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SAN  DIEGO       • 
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No 


LADS'   LOVE 


BOOKS  BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


Uniform  edition.     Each,  iamo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


Lads'   Love* 

Illustrated. 

In  this  fresh  and  charming  story,  which  in  some  re- 
spects recalls  "The  Lilac  Sunbonnet,"  Mr.  Crockett 
returns  to  Galloway  and  pictures  the  humor  and  pathos 
of  the  life  which  he  knows  so  well. 

,* 
Cleg  Kelly,   Arafc  of  the  Gty. 

His  Progress  and  Adventures. 

Illustrated. 

"  A  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never 
rivaled.  ...  If  ever  there  was  an  ideal  character  in  fiction 
it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin. " — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"In  no  one  of  his  books  does  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a 
brighter  or  more  graphic  picture  of  contemporary  Scotch 
life  than  in  '  Cleg  Kelly.'  It  is  one  of  the  great  books." 
— Boston  Advertiser. 

& 

Bog-Myrtle  and  Peat. 

"  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life  written 
in  words  that  thrill  and  burn.  ...  All  are  set  down  in 
words  that  are  fit,  chaste,  and  noble.  Each  is  a  poem 
that  has  the  immortal  flavor."— Boston  Courier. 

* 

The  Lilac  Stmbonnet. 

"  A  love  story  pure  and  simple — one  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned, wholesome,  sunshiny  kind,  with  a  pure-minded, 
sound-hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a  good 
and  beautiful  woman  ;  and  if  any  other  love  story  half  so 
sweet  has  been  written  this  year  it  has  escaped  our  no- 
tice."— New  York  Times. 


NEW  YORK  :  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


LADS'    LOVE 


BY 


S.   R.  CROCKETT 

AUTHOR    OF 

THE    LILAC    SUNBONNET  J    BOG-MYRTLE    AND    PEAT 
CLEG    KELLY,    ARAB   OF   THE    CITY,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1897 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  1897, 
BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


TO 
MY   UNANSWERED  CORRESPONDENTS. 


DEAR  CORRESPONDENTS, 

FREE  AND  UNSOLICITED, 

I  send  you  at  once  my  apology  and 
epistle  general  in  the  form  of  a  Dedication  to  this  little  book. 

For  years  it  has  been  your  habit  to  write  me,  sometimes  to 
praise,  oftener  to  blame.  You  have  informed  me  that  your 
great-aunts  cannot  be  expected  to  approve  of  certain  passages 
in  my  works.  This  has  indeed  grieved  me,  but  not  so  much  as 
when  you  patriotically  send  me  the  postage  stamps  of  your 
native  countries — which  (I  tell  it  you  once  for  all,  and  in  the 
name  of  all  my  fellow-craftsmen  who  share  with  me  your  fa- 
vours) do  not  frank  letters  of  reply  from  our  land  to  yours, 
owing  to  some  unfeeling  prejudice  on  the  part  of  our  British 
Post-office.  Worst  of  all  is  it  when  you  send  me  the  small 
coinage  of  your  realms  and  republics,  not  as  tribute,  but  as  pre- 
payment of  autographs.  These  the  alert  Postmaster-General 
can  feel  between  finger  and  thumb  as  the  covering  letters  pass 
through  his  hands.  Then  forthwith  he  sends  his  satraps  to 
charge  me  such  sums  for  excess  and  non-registration  of  coin  as 
are  fitted  to  shake  the  foundations  of  any  literary  finance  what- 
soever. This,  however,  be  it  remembered,  does  not  apply  to 
cheques  or  bank-notes. 

Then,  having  as  it  were  paid  your  footing,  with  a  faithful- 
ness which  does  you  infinite  credit,  you  proceed  to  inform  me 
that  I  am  not  doing  the  things  I  ought — but,  in  fact,  quite 
otherwise.  Furthermore,  I  am  leaving  undone  my  manifest 


vi  LADS'    LOVE. 

duty,  and  refusing  to  fulfil  my  appointed  destiny,  humble  as 
you  correctly  point  out  that  destiny  to  be. 

I  take  a  letter  in  my  hand.  In  it  I  am  assured  that  in  time 
I  might  become  even  a  reputable  writer  of  fiction,  if  only  I 
would  consent  to  abjure  love-making,  landscape,  and  low  so- 
ciety, and  live  cleanly  in  a  land  of  pure  romance. 

The  next  I  open  implores  me  not  to  imperil  a  considerable 
future  by  inserting  descriptions  of  killings  and  miscellaneous 
bloodsheds ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  confine  myself  to  the 
characterisation  of  the  domestic  affection  between  the  sexes, 
and  the  influence  of  vegetarian  tracts  on  the  elevation  of  the 
masses. 

I  am  obliged,  touched — grateful  even  ;  but  I  cannot  avoid 
being  somewhat  confused. 

I  am  reminded  of  my  old  master  in  the  Mathematics  at 
Edinburgh,  Professor  Kelland  (of  whose  "  kindly  spectacle  " 
Mr.  Stevenson  has  written  so  charmingly).  When  Kelland  sat 
in  the  seat  of  judgment  upon  our  examination  papers  he  leaned 
ever  to  the  side  of  mercy.  To  his  fellow-examiner  he  would 
say,  touching  the  paper  gently  with  his  fingers,  as  if  he  would 
feel  the  beating  heart  that  waited  anxiously  outside  for  the  ver- 
dict :  "  We'll  let  the  laddie  through  this  time  ;  he's  done  his  best. 
It's  true  his  best  is  not  very  good  !  " 

So  with  a  like  kindly  charity,  dear  distant  mentors,  think  of 
me.  It  is  not  given  me  always  to  write  what  you  would — only 
what  I  can.  To  write  that  which  is  in  one's  heart  at  the  moment 
is  the  only  rule.  And  the  seasons  change  with  me,  and  my  way- 
ward likings  with  them.  In  summer  I  can  write  with  anyone 
of  lasses  and  lads,  and  the  long  courtships  between  the  gloam- 
ing and  the  mirk  ;  but  as  soon  as  winter  bites  snell  and  grim,  I 
must  needs  buckle  on  steel-cap  and  leathern  jack  and  ride  forth 
a-foraying  on  the  English  border. 

Be  content,  therefore,  with  lowlier  things  if  the  knightly 
quest  prove  too  high  for  me.  After  all,  if  the  matter  like  you 
not,  there  is  no  compulsion  to  read — not  even  if,  as  I  hope,  you 
have  gone  to  them  that  sell,  and  bought  my  merry  lads  in  Lin- 
coln green. 


DEDICATION.  Vli 

For — be  it  known  to  you — I  love  to  write  for  the  work's  own 
sake,  and  write  I  must  till  the  night  cometh,  whether  any  read 
me  or  no.  If,  indeed,  you  love  that  which  I  indite,  I  rejoice 
like  a  mother  whose  bairns  are  praised.  But  if  you  like  my 
scribings  not — well,  pass  ;  at  least  I  was  entirely  happy  when  I 
wrote  them.  I  did  my  best  with  every  page,  slaving  late  and 
early  like  a  man  diligent  at  a  beloved  handicraft— even  if,  in 
the  words  of  the  kindly  mathematician,  "  my  best  is  not  very 
good." 

And  last  of  all,  I  can  always  have  the  comfort  of  saying, 
cheerily  as  may  be,  "  We  shall  do  better  next  time,"  even  as 
Braddock  did  when  they  were  carrying  him,  dying  after  defeat, 
from  the  banks  of  the  fatal  Monongahela. 

S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


NOTE. 


The  somewhat  peculiar  and  composite  flavour 
of  this  little  book  has  resulted  from  an  attempt 
to  epitomise  the  various  humours,  idylls,  loves, 
and  tragedies  of  moorland  life  in  Scotland  well- 
nigh  half  a  century  ago.  The  places  are  real,  and 
the  local  colour  exact;  but  the  characters  are 
wholly  ideal,  and  cannot  be  identified  with  any 
actual  men  and  women,  alive  or  dead.  I  have 
taken  the  title,  "  Lads'  Love,"  from  the  old  name 
for  the  Scented  Wormwood,  or  Southern-wood, 
a  sprig  of  which  wooers  used  to  wear  when  they 
went  courting,  and  our  grandmothers  to  carry 
with  them  in  their  Bibles  to  church. 

S.  R.  C 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — THE   RETURN   OF   THE   VICTOR          ....  I 

II. — THE   WILD   THING   ON   THE   MOOR.  .  .  .II 

III. — RAB  AN'ERSON,  LAZY  TAED 21 

IV. — THE  NETHER  NEUK  LASSES 37 

V. — WAGER  OF  BATTLE        ..'....  50 

VI. — WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DO  wi'  AN  AULD  MAN  59 

VII. — ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  AND   WAR       ....  69 

VIII. — I   MAKE   LOVE   IN   EARNEST 77 

IX. — THE  AFTERCOME 88 

X. — THE  HONOURABLE  SOPHRONIA     ....  102 

XL — THE  SQUARING  OF  THE  HEMPIE  ....  119 

XIL— THE  WATER-OF-DEE  PEARLS        ....  134 

XIII. — MY   OTHER    SWEETHEART 143 

XIV. — THE   ARGUMENT   OF   NABAL  THE   CHURL         .  .158 

XV. — FOUR   LETTERS I7O 

XVI.— THE  GHOST  WALK 180 

XVIL— THE  PRINCESS  NANCE 191 

XVIII. — LOVE-MAKING  WITH  A  DIFFERENCE      .        .        .202 

XIX. — EPHRAIM  is  JOINED  TO  HIS  IDOLS        .        .        .  214 

XX. — A  POACHER'S  NIGHT 223 

XXL — "  FOLLOWDICK  ! " 232 

XXII. — THE   REFORMATION    OF  THE   LAZY   TAED       .           .  241 

XXIII. — NATHAN  MURDOCH  MAKES  A  BUSINESS  PROPOSAL  247 

XXIV. — FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 258 

XXV. — DROWNED  DUNCAN'S  POOL 268 

XXVI. — THE  FISCAL'S  EXAMINATION 282 

XXVII. — ENTER  RAB  AN'ERSON 291 

XXVIII. — MISTRESS  BRIDGET  MACCORMICK         .        .        .  300 

XXIX. — THE  HEMPIE  ARRANGES  NANCE'S  DOWRY  .        .  308 
ix 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Portrait  of  the  author Frontispiece. 

The  wild  thing  on  the  moor      .        .         .        .        .        .        .11 

Nance  was  the  bonniest 42 

"  Hoot,  man,  ye  are  a  cooard  " 56 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  Alec  ?  " 71 

Marching  majestically  erect  over  the  roofs        ....  104 
"  You  will  find  it,  like  your  widowed  heart,  not  much  the  worse 

for  my  wearing  of  it  " 142 

"  I  wish,  oh  I  wish  he  was  here  now  " 179 

The  Ghost  Walk       .        .        . 187 

"  Will  ye  no  tak' your  ring  back  again  ?" 210 

Mistress  Bridget  MacCormick 302 

"  I'm  sair  doubtfu'  that  I  canna  get  near  ye,  faither"        .        .  314 


LADS'   LOVE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   RETURN   OF   THE   VICTOR. 

The  first  time  that  Nathan  Murdoch  came 
home  to  Whinnyliggate  from  "  the  Pack,"  he 
might  have  easily  have  made  himself  a  very  popu- 
lar person,  for  he  had  money  in  his  pocket,  and 
he  was  a  member  of  a  profession  of  widest  repute 
in  Galloway  as  the  surest  way  for  enterprising 
young  men  to  "  make  siller."  • 

The  "  Scotch  Drapery  Trade,"  as  it  was  called 
for  euphony,  if  not  for  love,  was  new  at  the  time 
of  which  I  am  writing,  and  large  sums  were  be- 
lieved to  be  made  by  it.  "  The  Pack,"  which  is 
its  shorter  name,  means  in  the  south-west  of 
Scotland  the  carrying  of  goods  in  sample  and 
piece  around  to  the  houses  of  miners  and  factory 
workers  in  the  poorer  districts  of  the  north  and 
centre  of  England.  It  is  a  business  which  the 
young  Scot  fired  with  the  ambition  of  riches  does 
not  try  to  carry  on  in  his  own  country.  What- 


2  LADS'   LOVE. 

ever  be  the  ethics  of  the  trade,  it  is  certain  that 
it  can  only  thrive  where  the  people  are  thriftless. 
For,  however  it  may  have  improved  in  these  lat- 
ter days,  in  its  essence  it  used  to  consist  of  the 
victim  paying  ten  shillings  in  weekly  instalments 
for  five  shillings'  worth  of  goods.  But  then  the 
sufferer  was  always  of  the  Southron  race,  and  as 
the  Scottish  doctor  settled  in  England  said  grim- 
ly, "  It  takes  a  lot  to  make  up  for  Flodden."  At 
all  events,  young  La wland  Johnny  still  sallies  forth 
to  plunder  the  English  foe,  much  as  his  fore- 
fathers rode  southward  to  lift  the  cattle  and  to 
burn  the  thatch. 

Of  course  the  circulating  vendor  has,  on  his 
part,  to  take  the  risk  of  the  victim  not  paying 
at  all.  For  in  districts  where  the  name  "  Scotch- 
man "  is  a  reproach  leading  to  assault  and  bat- 
tery, moonlight  flittings  before  settling  day  are 
not  uncommon,  and  County  Court  summonses 
fall  thick  as  the  leaves  in  Vallombrosa. 

Now  when  Nathan  Murdoch  returned  to 
Whinnyliggate  to  enjoy  his  first  holiday  for  five 
years,  he  had  come  expecting  to  carry  all  before 
him.  Was  he  not  twenty-five,  and  had  he  not 
already  a  gold  watch?  Besides  which,  he  was 
not  ill-looking,  and  though  he  had  no  particular 
virtues,  he  had  not  yet  had  time  to  develop  his 
vices.  He  had  hitherto  been  too  much  occupied 


THE   RETURN   OF    THE   VICTOR.  3 

with  helping  his  master  on  his  pilgrimage  to  the 
sacred  Mecca  of  a  competence. 

But  now  he  was  to  "  have  a  walk  "  or  district 
of  his  own — that  is,  a  licensed  hunting-ground, 
with  permission  to  track  his  victims  at  his  leisure, 
and  wring  as  much  out  of  them  as  possible  with- 
out the  interference  of  any  legitimate  rival — if 
not  by  means  of  the  old  national  arguments  of 
boot-  and  thumb-screw,  at  least  with  the  no  less 
effective  bill  of  sale  and  blue  County  Court  sum- 
mons. 

Consequently  Nathan  had  returned  to  his  na- 
tive village,  elate  and  armed  for  conquest.  Be- 
sides the  watch  and  chain  he  possessed  a  hideous 
breastpin,  in  the  shape  of  a  dragon's  head  with 
eyes  of  ruby  fire,  and  when  a  certain  secret  spring 
was  touched,  a  spray  of  perfume  shot  out  of  the 
dragon's  mouth  upon  whom  it  might  concern. 
Nathan  expected  much  from  this  elegant  con- 
trivance. Then,  in  addition  to  all  this,  he  had 
thrilling  tales  to  tell,  and  when  he  liked  he  could 
even  conjure  up  a  fine  "  Englishy  "  accent.  This 
last,  however,  he  was  well  aware,  must  be  kept 
solely  for  the  more  impressionable  of  the  lasses. 
Its  production  in  the  rougher  parliament  of  the 
smithy  or  on  the  quoiting  green  would  indubit- 
ably produce  shouts  of  unholy  mirth.  Nothing 
(save  only  a  tall  hat)  amused  Whinnyliggate  so 


4  LADS'   LOVE. 

much  as  the  suspicion  of  an  "  Englishy  "  tone  in 
the  conversation  of  its  returned  children. 

But  chiefly,  through  the  long  weeks  and  days 
of  dully  gritty  drudgery,  Nathan  had  looked  for- 
ward to  appearing  before  the  three  fair  maids 
of  Nether  Neuk  in  the  haughty  attire  of  the  spoil- 
bearing  conqueror. 

Yet  when  at  last  he  sat  in  the  long-desired 
spot  Nance  Chrystie  paid  little  attention  to  him. 
She  sat  knitting  and  listening  indeed  to  Nathan's 
tales  of  that  far  Paradise  of  English  milk  and 
English  honey  into  which  the  "  packman  "  had 
so  lately  entered  to  possess  it.* 

In  sharp  contrast  to  the  indifference  of  his 
daughters,  Peter  Chrystie,  Nance's  father,  bent 
his  keen  grey  eyes  on  the  youth,  who  sat  twirling 
upwards  the  ends  of  his  moustache  and  smil- 
ing at  his  own  good  pleasure  in  the  tale  he 
told. 

"  Aye,  and  ye  tell  me  that  siller  can  be  had 
for  the  liftin'  where  ye  come  from?  "  said  Peter 
insinuatingly. 

"  It  can  be  had  for  the  pickin'  up,  as  plenty 

*  I  do  not  wish  to  be  thought  desirous  of  casting  reproach  upon 
a  lawful  trade  with  quite  honourable  possibilities,  through  which 
many  men  have  passed  with  unshaken  credit  and  approven  honesty. 
Nathan  Murdoch  was  a — well,  what  will  appear  in  the  course  of  my 
tale,  but  then  he  would  have  been  equally  one  if  he  had  been  a 
'doctor,  or  even  an  author. 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   VICTOR. 


5 


as  sclate  stanes!  "  cried  Nathan,  slapping  his  knee 
for  emphasis. 

"  And  how  do  ye  get  the  silly  English  folk  to 
buy  your  goods  when  they  can  get  them  cheaper 
elsewhere?  " 

Nathan  smiled  yet  more  complacently,  and 
twisted  his  moustache  a  little  higher. 

"  Oh,  there's  ways "  said  he,  nodding  mys- 
teriously. 

"  Draw  up  your  chair!  "  cried  Peter  Chrystie, 
nodding  commendation.  All  that  appertained  to 
money-getting  was  of  the  sweet  essential  elixir 
of  life  to  him. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  Nether  Neuk,"  Nathan  began, 
warming  himself  in  the  red  glow  of  well-merited 
appreciation,  and  the  intoxication  of  talking  on 
equal  terms  with  the  father  of  the  famous  maids 
of  Nether  Neuk,  "  to  begin  with,  it  behoves  to 
let  them  easy  into  your  debt.  Ye  gang  amang 
the  wives  when  the  men  are  frae  hame.  Ye  hae 
your  samples  handy,  a  thocht  better  than  the 
webs,  maybe.  Ye  flatter  and  flairdie  them  a 
while — a'  the  women  folk  like  a  guid-gaun 
tongue:  '  This  would  become  you  well,  mistress! 
This  would  set  your  bonnie,  well-fared  face  ' — 
a  bonnet,  a  dress,  a  watch  and  chain,  maybe — 
'  any  one  of  them  would  make  ye  the  envy  of 
your  neighbours.  The  money?  Oh,  never  trou- 


6  LADS'   LOVE. 

ble  yourself  about  the  money.  What  is  that 
amongst  friends?  It  will  be  all  right — a  paper  to 
sign,  a  trifle  every  week  or  so,  and  you  can  have 
the  article  now  instead  of  waiting  months,  and 
perhaps  never  getting  it  at  all. 

"  That's  the  start,"  continued  Nathan,  nurs- 
ing his  knees  affectionately,  with  a  pause  for  the 
inward  contemplation  of  his  own  shrewdness. 
"  Then  when  he  hae  the  silly  geds  safe  on  the 
hook,  ye  come  round  every  week  to  get  the  siller. 
And  in  a  week  or  twa  the  puir  bit  wifie  is  no 
ready.  She  has  had  extra  to  pay  out  that  week. 
Her  man  brought  her  five  shillings  less  hame  on 
pay-nicht.  Then  ye  get  your  second  chance.  Ye 
hae  some  damaged  fabrics  that  ye  bocht  dirt 
cheap,  and  that  ye  want  desperately  to  get  rid 
of.  Will  she  hae  ten  yairds  o'  that — fifteen  o' 
this? 

"  No,  she  does  not  want  it !  Does  not  need 
the  like! 

"  Well,  then,  ye  are  terrible  sorry,  but  ye  will 
hae  to  press  for  the  instalment  o'  the  goods 
bought  last.  Howsomever,  ye  dinna  want  to  be 
hard — ye  will  call  round  again  when  the  guidman 
comes  hame  frae  his  wark! 

"  And  at  that,  up  rises  your  wife  in  deadly 
fear,  for  ye  may  be  sure  she  has  said  nothing  to 
her  man  aboot  her  purchases. 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE  VICTOR.  7 

"  When  ye  come  oot  o'  that  hoose  ye  hae 
selled  ten  yairds  o'  damaged  claith  at  a  profit  o' 
three  or  fower  hunder  per  cent!  What  think  ye 
o'  that?" 

Nathan  looked  about  him  for  admiration. 
Peter  Chrystie's  face  expressed  solid  tons  of  it. 
But  there  was  an  ill-omened  glitter  in  the  down- 
cast eyes  of  Nance,  that  demure  and  imperious 
beauty,  as  she  kept  them  steadily  fixed  on  her 
work. 

Encouraged  by  the  wondering  silence,  the 
narrator  again  took  up  his  heroic  tale: 

"  Then  after  a  time  or  two  like  that,  as  ye 
can  see,  ye  hae  them  in  your  grip,  and  can 
squeeze  them  at  your  leisure!  " 

"  And  do  the  puir  folk  always  pay  up 
some  time?  "  asked  Peter,  who  wanted  to  real- 
ise the  risks  as  well  as  be  informed  of  the  re- 
wards. 

"  Ah,"  cried  Nathan,  "  they  try  a'  mainner  o' 
tricks  to  get  clear,  but  we  are  far  ower  gleg  and 
wary  for  the  wretches.  For  instance,  some  day 
you'll  be  on  your  '  round,'  and  ye  come  to  a  door 
where  the  wife  is  deep  in  debt,  firm  nippit  by  the 
nose.  Ye  chap  and  chap  and  better  chap,  but 
there  is  nae  answer.  Ye  push  the  door  open. 
There  is  maybe  a  bit  callant  o'  eight  or  nine,  sit- 
ting playing  wi'  a  tawtie  on  the  floor. 


8  LADS'   LOVE. 

" '  Where's  your  mither,  laddie? '  ye  say 
briskly. 

"'She's  out,  mon!' 

" '  Then  did  your  mother  leave  the  shillin  ? ' 
says  you,  as  if  butter  would  never  melt  in  your 
mouth! 

"  Then  maybe  you  have  the  same  happen  to 
you  in  half-a-dozen  of  the  houses,  and  it  is  no 
just  pleasant  to  go  out  of  the  village  with  a 
string  of  ill-set  tatterdemalion  weans  at  your  tail, 
all  marching  with  the  goose-step,  and  shouting 
your  own  question  as  loud  as  they  can  yell: 

"  '  Did  your  mother  leave  the  shillin  ?  ' 

"  '  Did  your  mother  leave  the  shillin  ?  ' ' 

For  the  first  time  Nance  Chrystie  looked  up 
and  smiled;  but  the  glint  in  her  eye  was  as  dan- 
gerous as  ever,  like  the  gray  of  steel  before  it 
strikes  the  flint. 

But  all  unwarned,  Nathan  went  on  his  re- 
joiceful  way. 

"  Another  good  way  to  make  siller,"  he  ex- 
plained, feeling  that  he  held  the  floor,  "  is  never 
to  have  journeymen  helpers,  but  aye  'prentices. 
Ye  see  it  is  a  custom  in  the  trade  that  ye  take  an 
apprentice  for  three  or  four  year,  and  then  at  the 
end  o'  that  time  ye  are  obliged  by  the  indentures 
to  gie  him  his  '  round  '  or  '  walk  '  to  himself.  But 
there's  a  usefu'  clause  about  finishin'  his  'pren- 


THE    RETURN   OF   THE   VICTOR.  9 

ticeship.  Then  the  lad,  thinkin'  that  he'll  get 
the  district  for  his  ain  in  a  year  or  twa,  tries  his 
best  to  draw  guid  business,  and  is  aye  pushin'  and 
steady,  and  what  is  better,  he " 

"  In  fact,  he  sees  that  your  mother  leaves  the 
shillin' !  "  put  in  Nance  Chrystie  demurely,  and 
without  a  twinkle. 

"  Yes,  ah — not  exactly,  Miss  Nance,"  said  Na- 
than Murdoch,  smiling,  but  with  a  vague  sense 
that  all  was  not  right ;  "  then  when  the  'prentice's 
time  is  nearly  up,  ye  can  aye  get  an  excuse  to 
quarrel  wi'  him,  pick  some  fau't  wi'  his  accounts, 
and  get  rid  o'  him.  Then  ye  get  anither  'pren- 
tice, and  start  him  on  the  '  round  '  for  anither 
three  year.  In  that  way,  by  judgment  and  care, 
I  hae  kenned  o'  braw  fortunes  being  made  in  a 
very  short  time." 

"  You  lads  will  be  muckle  respected  and 
looked  up  to  in  your  districts? "  said  Nance, 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  sweetness  hardly  less 
than  paralysing. 

"Aye,"  laughed  Nathan,  well  pleased;  "ye 
should  just  see  the  wives  rinnin'  to  dust  a  chair 
for  us  when  we  gang  in!  " 

Nance  rose  slowly  till  her  slim,  tall  figure  con- 
fronted him.  Scorn  sat  finely  on  the  chiselled 
curve  of  her  nostrils,  disgust  was  oratory  in  the 
curl  of  her  full  red  lips. 


IO  LADS'  LOVE. 

"  If  I  were  the  men  that  the  wives  belonged 
to,"  she  said,  "  I  would  dust  an  unplaned  paling 
rail,  and  set  you  and  your  'pack'  on  it;  then 
I  would  ride  you  rough-shod  to  the  dirtiest  dub 
of  the  nearest  horse-pond,  and  there  I  would 
leave  you  and  your  pack,  your  swatches,  and 
your  County  Court  notices,  where  they  ought 
to  be — up  to  the  neck  in  glaur!  "  * 

And  with  that  she  flashed  like  an  angry  prin- 
cess out  of  the  room. 

"  Nance!  "  cried  her  father  indignantly;  but 
he  was  too  late  to  stop  her.  "  Never  heed  her," 
he  added  consolingly  to  the  insulted  narrator, 
"  she  is  but  a  daft,  regardless  lassie,  and  kens  nae 
better!  " 

*  Mud  of  a  sticky  and  unpleasant  consistency. 


The  -wild  thing  on  the  moor. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   WILD   THING   ON   THE   MOOR. 

But  Nathan  Murdoch  was  not  to  be  so  readily 
soothed.  A  father's  approval  is  small  consola- 
tion for  the  daughter's  scorn,  when  you  go  to 
call  upon  both  in  a  new  suit,  a  watch-chain,  and 
a  scent-sprinkler,  as  it  were,  triply  armed  for  con- 
quest. 

So  after  a  little  Nathan  said  good-night  and 
went  out  to  wander  disconsolately  across  the 
moor.  He  sat  down  on  a  "  tummock  "  of  brown 
bents,  and  thought  the  visit  over  from  first  to 
last.  He  was  downcast  and  disconsolate.  He 
put  his  head  between  his  hands.  He  sat  there  a 
long  time  motionless,  thinking  intently  of  Nance 
Chrystie's  strange  behaviour. 

He  did  not  observe  a  gipsy  face,  with  great 
dark  eyes  and  hair  falling  in  witch  tangles  about 
it,  which  looked  at  him  steadily  and  curiously 
out  of  a  whin-bush.  After  a  while  the  shoulders 

appeared,  followed  noiselessly  in  their  turn  by  the 

ii 


12  LADS'   LOVE. 

body,  and  then  by  a  brief  sufficient  vision  of  the 
ragged  skirts  and  nut-brown  ankles  of  a  long- 
limbed  girl  of  about  fifteen.  Still  all  unconscious, 
Nathan  Murdoch  sat  still  and  kept  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands.  His  packman's  pride  was  in 
the  dust.  He  hated  all  mankind,  and  girl-kind 
worst  of  all.  He  would  go  back  to  Bolton-le- 
Moors,  and  bury  himself  in  the  excitement  of 
running  a  keen-edged  business  on  his  own  ac- 
count. 

Presently  the  pretty  gipsy,  hidden  again 
among  the  gorse,  puckered  her  lips  and  whistled 
a  mellow  stave  like  a  blackbird  tuning  up  for  his 
evening  concert.  Then,  quick  in  retreat  as  the 
bird  himself,  the  great  dark  eyes  and  the  rebel- 
lious hair-tangles  were  ducked  down  behind  the 
whin-bush. 

Nathan  looked  all  about.  The  moor  lay  bare 
as  the  palm  of  his  hand — the  silly  birds  crying, 
the  stupid  sheep  browsing  head  down,  and  from 
the  heather-bushes  the  yellow-breeched  bumble- 
bees setting  grumblingly  homewards.  Nathan 
sighed. 

Again  there  came  the  mellow  whistle  behind 
him,  and  this  time  he  was  just  in  time  to  see 
the  dark  head  flash  behind  the  yellow  and  green 
pincushion  of  the  gorse. 

"Come  out  of  that!"  he  cried  indignantly. 


THE   WILD   THING   ON   THE    MOOR.  13 

A  lithe,  girlish  form  darted  back  a  dozen  steps, 
and  then  halted  uncertainly,  as  a  startled  deer 
might  do,  curiosity  and  suspicion  at  war  behind 
her  eyes. 

"  Come  here,  I  tell  you! "  cried  Nathan  Mur- 
doch angrily.  "  What  do  you  want?  " 

The  girl  did  not  move.  He  went  a  step  or 
two  towards  her.  She  stood  ready  to  spring 
away,  her  whole  light  body  poised  for  flight.  But 
somehow  Nathan  held  her  with  his  eyes.  She 
stood  quivering,  fascinated. 

"Jove!"  he  said  at  last;  "but  you'll  be  a 
beauty  in  a  year  or  two,  my  lassie!  " 

She  stood  still,  looking  at  him,  wild  and 
shy  as  a  fawn  come  down  to  drink  by  the  water- 
side. 

"  What's  your  name?  "  he  said. 

"  The  Hoolet !  "  said  the  girl,  speaking  sud- 
denly, almost  angrily — as  if  her  words  were  im- 
pelled from  behind  her  white  teeth  like  an  unwel- 
come intruder  kicked  off  a  doorstep. 

But  when  Nathan  began  to  approach  too  near, 
the  girl  leaped  back  quickly,  passing  from  one 
grassy  hummock  to  another,  lightly  as  a  bird 
hops  upon  a  bending  spray. 

Then  Nathan  sat  down  and  put  his  brow  again 
on  his  hand.  The  "  Hoolet  "  regarded  him  sus- 
piciously for  a  minute,  holding  her  head  first  on 


14  LADS'   LOVE. 

one  side  and  then  on  the  other.  Then  in  her  turn 
the  girl  began  to  approach  cautiously. 

"  Are  ye  hungry?  "  she  asked  anxiously,  but 
ready  all  the  same  to  flee  at  the  stirring  of  a 
finger. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Hae!"  she  said  briefly. 

And  in  a  flash,  a  double  handful  of  purple- 
bloomed  blaeberries  were  lying  beside  him  and 
Hoolet  was  back  again  in  her  old  place. 

"  I  am  not  hungry,"  he  said,  without  glan- 
cing up. 

The  Hoolet  looked  anxious. 

"  Did  onybody  thresh  ye?  "  she  enquired. 

"  No!  "  said  Nathan  Murdoch,  thinking  sadly 
of  Nance  Chrystie's  bitter  tongue  and  his  own 
wounded  pride. 

The  Hoolet  tried  again. 

"  Hae  ye  a  thorn  in  your  foot?  " 

Once  more  Nathan  shook  his  head  and  this 
time  he  rose.  The  Hoolet  was  in  despair.  A 
grief  that  could  not  be  cured  by  ripe,  well- 
plumped  blaeberries,  which  proceeded  neither 
from  a  beating  with  a  stick  nor  yet  from  a  thorn 
in  the  foot,  was  too  awful  and  mysterious  for  her 
understanding. 

Nathan  made  as  if  he  would  go  towards  the 
village.  The  Hoolet  convoyed  him,  keeping  par- 


THE   WILD  THING  ON   THE   MOOR.  15 

allel  to  his  course>  but  ten  yards  off.  An  idea 
struck  her. 

"  Are  folk  no  kind  to  ye?  "  she  asked. 

Nathan  thought  bitterly  once  more  upon 
cruel  Nance. 

"  No,"  he  answered;  "  the  folk  are  not  kind 
to  me  here.  I  am  going  far,  far  away!  " 

"  But  ye  will  come  back? "  cried  the  girl 
anxiously,  clasping  her  hands.  Something  in  her 
face  took  Nathan's  roving  eye  and  held  it. 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  her  from  head  to 
foot,  as  she  stood  before  him  with  her  eyes  aflame, 
the  elf-locks  about  her  brow  waving  a  little  in  the 
light  summer  wind,  her  bosom  heaving  with  ex- 
citement, her  cheeks  dusky  red,  her  arms  bare 
and  brown,  the  scanty  dress  scarcely  concealing 
her  slim  lithe  figure,  and  beneath  its  utmost 
ragged  fringe  a  vision  of  feet  and  ankles  brown 
and  bare  midway  to  the  knee. 

"  Did  anybody  ever  tell  ye  that  ye  were 
bonny,  lassie?  "  he  said  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Na,"  she  answered,  breathing  quickly;  "  nae- 
body  ever  telled  me  that!  " 

"Well,"  said  Nathan  Murdoch,  "what  do 
you  say  when  I  tell  it  you?  For  by  my  faith,  ye 
are  a  bonny  lass,  and  will  be  far  bonnier  before 
lang." 

The  tide  of  dusky  red  flushed  in  level  flood  up 


1 6  LADS'   LOVE. 

her  neck  to  her  face,  as  if  it  had  suddenly  come 
pouring  from  where  her  scant  gown  was  dis- 
trained a  little  open  in  front,  her  youth  bourge- 
oning too  quickly  beneath  it.  It  glowed  like  a 
damask  rose  on  either  dusky  cheek,  and  faded 
away  about  her  ears  and  on  the  low  broad  brow 
over  which  the  dark  curls  clustered. 

"  What  do  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  some 
day  ye  will  be  the  bonniest  lass  in  a'  Whinny- 
liggate  pairish?  " 

"  I  dinna  believe  ye,"  she  said  softly,  "  but 
oh,  I  like  to  hear  ye  say  it !  " 

Next  Sunday  when  the  kirk  came  out,  Na- 
than, who  by  that  time  had  almost  forgotten  his 
meeting  on  the  moor  with  the  Hoolet,  tried  once 
more  to  attract  to  himself  the  attention  of  the 
present  imperious  belle  of  the  parish. 

But  Nance  Chrystie  looked  across  at  him  only 
once,  and  then  in  full  hearing  of  the  kirkyard 
parliament  she  said,  "  Did  your  mother  leave  the 
shilling?  " 

By  which  Nathan  knew  that  the  tale  was  out, 
and  indeed  every  child  in  the  village  knew  it 
long  before  this,  for  in  those  days  Nance 
Chrystie's  least  words  were  carried  by  the  birds 
of  the  air. 

The  very  next  day  Nathan  chanced  to  go 


THE   WILD   THING   ON   THE   MOOR.  17 

down  the  single  winding  street  of  the  village.  It 
was  the  "  scaling  time  "  of  the  school.  The  boys 
joyously  noted  his  coming.  There  was  a  hurried 
conclave  among  them,  and  as  soon  as  he  had 
passed,  a  band  of  the  youth  and  impudence  of 
Whinnyliggate  came  stilting  after  him,  with  a 
gait  intended  to  represent  the  military  goose- 
step.  And  as  they  marched  they  sang,  ceasing 
neither  when  their  mothers  shook  their  fists 
at  them  from  the  doorsteps,  nor  even  when 
the  schoolmaster  looked  out  of  the  school- 
house  door  with  the  dread  official  tawse  in  his 
hand. 

"  Did  your  mother  leave  the  shillin  ?  " 
"  Did  your  mother  leave  the  shillin  ?  " 
Tam  Gillespie  marched  in  front,  drumming 
the  monotonous  refrain  upon  his  own  proudly 
inflated  stomach.      Every  window-blind  in  the 
village  street  was  set  with  faces,  red  like  peonies 
with  carefully  suppressed  laughter. 

Nathan  tried  to  walk  calmly  along  without 
taking  the  least  notice.  It  was  his  wisest  course, 
but  the  imps  were  too  pertinacious.  At  last, 
much  against  his  will,  he  had  to  take  refuge  in 
the  smiddy,  bitterly  muttering  to  himself.  "  I'll 
leave  the  place  this  very  day,  and  never  come 
back  to  it  till  I  have  made  sae  muckle  siller  that 
every  one  o'  them  will  be  ready  to  lick  the  dust 


1 8  LADS'   LOVE. 

before  me — that  pridefu'  madam  Nance  Chrystie 
and  all!" 

And  to  do  Nathan  Murdoch  justice,  he  kept 
his  word.  But  he  should  not  have  included 
Nance  Chrystie.  He  did  not  know  that  young 
woman. 

The  smith  and  his  apprentice  were  well  aware 
of  his  coming,  while  the  synod  of  three  plough- 
men and  a  herd,  who  were  waiting  to  have  horses 
shod  and  scythes  set,  had  watched  the  procession 
moving  down  the  street  with  mirthful  apprecia- 
tion. But  when  at  last  Nathan  entered  the  smid- 
dy  for  refuge,  you  could  never  have  guessed  from 
their  six  faces  that  any  one  of  them  knew  aught 
of  the  matter.  A  sedate  and  even  philosophic 
gloom  sat  on  every  countenance,  and  each  man 
seemed  to  be  intent  solely  on  counting  the 
clinkum-clanks  of  the  smith  and  his  apprentice  as 
their  hammers  rose  and  fell  upon  the  anvil. 

Outside,  the  Packman's  marching  tail  of  scur- 
ril  loons  formed  up  about  the  smiddy,  and  sang 
their  refrain  in  chorus,  marking  the  time — 

"  Did  your  mother  leave  the  shill-uri  ?  " 

"  It's  brave  and  fine  weather,"  said  the  smith, 
whose  right  it  was  to  lead  conversation  in  his  own 
smiddy;  "you'll  be  thinkin'  o'  takkin'  a  langer 
holiday  amang  us,  nae  doot?  " 

"  Did  your  moth " 


THE  WILD  THING  ON  THE  MOOR.      19 

"  I  was  thinking  of  returning  to  my  duties 
to-morrow!  " 

"  — er  leave  the  shillun  ?  " 

"  Ye'll  be  missed  in  this  village,"  said  the 
smith,  gravely  blowing  up  the  fire;  "  we  have  few 
visitors  of  note  here." 

A  week — nay,  two  days,  ago  Nathan  might 
have  been  taken  in  by  the  persiflage,  but  the  run- 
ning comment  outside  was  too  caustic. 

"  Did  your  moth did  your  moth "  (Chorus 

fortissimo)  "Did  your  mother  leave  the  shillun  — 
leave  the  shillun — leave  the  shillun  f  Did  your 
mother  leave  the  shillun  ?  " 

Suddenly  there  came  a  diversion  without — 
yells,  shouts  of  anger,  screams  of  pain,  the  sounds 
of  blows  stricken  "  for  keeps,"  the  patter  of  hasty 
flight. 

Everyone  in  the  smiddy  ran  to  doors  and  win- 
dows— Nathan  last  of  all. 

This  is  what  they  saw — a  tall  lass  with  a 
weighty  hazel  "  rung  "  in  her  hand,  flailing  it 
fiercely  among  the  rout  of  ribald  laddies,  her 
arm  rising  and  falling,  "  for  a'  the  world  like  a 
man  threshin'  corn  in  a  barn,"  as  the  smith 
put  it. 

It  was  the  Hoolet. 

When  Nathan  Murdoch  discerned  what  cham- 
pion was  fighting  his  battles,  he  smiled  a  little 
3 


20  LADS'   LOVE. 

to  himself,  and  twisted  his  thin  moustache  more 
thoughtfully. 

"  One  day  I  shall  surely  come  back,"  he  said, 
"  and  then  they  shall  lick  the  dust  before  me." 

And  without  once  turning  his  head  to  look 
after  the  Hoolet,  or  saying  a  word  of  good-bye 
to  the  smiddy,  he  turned  and  walked  up  the  street 
to  pack  his  bag. 

When  in  the  afternoon  Nathan  Murdoch  left 
Whinnyliggate  to  meet  the  coach,  the  Hoolet 
watched  him  out  of  sight — as  usual,  from  behind 
a  whin-bush.  And  her  eyes  were  great  and  misty 
and  wet. 

"  It's  no  true  what  he  telled  me,"  she  said 
over  and  over  to  herself;  "  but  it's  a  bonny,  bonny 
lee!  I  liked  fine  to  hear  him  say  it." 


CHAPTER   III. 
RAB  AN'ERSON,  LAZY  TAED. 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o'  Rab  An'erson,  lazy  taed?  * 
Saw  ye  ocht  o'  Rab  An'erson,  lazy  taed?  " 

It  was  the  keen,  thin,  wire-drawn  voice  of 
Peter  Chrystie,  farmer  of  Nether  Neuk,  rising  and 
falling  over  the  scanty  ploughed  fields  and  pas- 
ture lands  which  made  a  kind  of  emerald  eye, 
under  the  dark  purple  eyebrow  of  the  heather. 
It  was  a  voice  with  a  rasping  screech  in  it,  for  all 
the  world  like  a  wagon-wheel  crying  out  for  its 
rations  of  grease.  Peter  was  known  throughout 
all  the  parish  of  Whinnyliggate  as  a  "  character." 
And  in  our  part  of  the  country  this  ambiguous 
appellation,  when  pronounced  with  a  little  down- 
ward nod  of  the  head,  generally  means  that  the 
person  so  distinguished  will,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  bear  watching — especially  in  affairs  pecuniary 
as  between  man  and  man. 


*  Toad. 

21 


22  LADS'    LOVE. 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Peter  was 
a  keen  hand  at  a  bargain.  His  whole  features 
changed  as  soon  as  he  scented  his  prey,  and  it 
was  with  an  unction  little  less  than  religious  that 
he  would  say  to  a  crony  upon  market-days: 
"  Hech,  sirs,  this  is  dry  wark!  Come  awa'  into 
the  Blue  Bell  and  thresh  it  oot  ower  a  gill  o' 
Betty  Logan's  best!" 

And  in  the  kirkyard,  when  the  irregular  but 
all-powerful  weekly  parish  council  was  assembled 
to  settle  the  affairs  of  the  universe,  there  was  no 
kirk  attendant  more  remarkable  for  the  consist- 
ent worldliness  of  his  conversation,  nor  yet  more 
impressive  in  the  solemn  sense  of  responsibility 
conveyed  to  all  beholders  by  his  well-creased 
"  blacks,"  than  Peter  Chrystie  of  Nether  Netik. 
For  Peter  was  an  elder.  That  is  to  say,  he  "  of- 
feeshiated  "  every  Sabbath  with  "  the  ladle  "  at 
the  close  of  the  sermon.  All  his  duties  as  an  ec- 
clesiastical dignitary  were  summed  up  and  closed 
in  that.  The  "  ladle  "  was  a  square  box  fixed  at 
the  end  of  a  long  pole,  which  was  protruded  be- 
neath the  nose  of  every  worshipper  in  Whinny- 
liggate  Kirk,  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  induc- 
ing him  to  "  contribute  to  the  funds  for  the  be- 
hoof of  the  poor  of  the  pairish." 

When  Peter  thus  "  offeeshiated,"  he  used  to 
take  a  special  delight  in  rattling  the  bottom  of 


RAB  AN'ERSON,   LAZY   TAED.  23 

the  contribution  box  as  he  pushed  it  along  the 
book-boards  of  all  "  puir  gi'ers."  Nevertheless, 
he  had,  even  in  these  solemn  circumstances,  and 
when  thus  engaged  in  stimulating  Christian  be- 
nevolence throughout  the  parish,  a  singularly 
clear  and  cool  eye  to  the  main  chance. 

So  intent  was  the  farmer  upon  his  "  troking 
and  trafficing,"  that  he  has  been  known  to  lean 
across  from  the  "  aisle,"  as  he  passed  a  fellow- 
elder  similarly  occupied  in  collecting  the  coppers 
from  the  "  arrie,"  or  centre  of  the  kirk,  and,  with 
a  face  as  grave  and  solemn  as  a  Cameronian  com- 
munion, to  say,  "  I'll  tak'  twa-an'-twunty  for  thae 
yowes,  an'  de'il  a  fardin'  less.  Sae  I'm  tellin'  ye, 
Barnboard!" 

Barnboard  is  my  authority  for  this.  He  told 
my  father,  Saunders  McQuhirr,  of  Drumquhat, 
and  my  father  told  me.  So  the  matter  is  neither 
"  he  said,"  nor  "  she  said,"  but  just  plain,  unear- 
ned fact. 

Barnboard's  own  version  of  his  reply  is  that 
he  said,  "  I  wonder  at  ye,  Nether  Neuk,  profan- 
in'  the  hoose  o'  God  and  the  Sabbath  day  wi'  your 
sheep-dealin'  and  nifferin'!  " 

A  less  highly  moral,  but  intrinsically  much 
more  probable  version  is  that  Barnboard  replied, 
"  Twunty-wan  I'll  bid  ye,  Neuk — an'  a  hanged 
sicht  ower  dear!  "  For  all  that,  certain  it  is  that 


24  LADS'   LOVE. 

Barnboard  bought  the  ewes,  and  that  the  price 
was  as  certainly  exactly  two-and-twenty  shillings 
sterling.  The  purchaser  justly  thought  that  the 
price  was  "  ower  the  score,"  and  he  told  the  story 
of  the  bargain  across  the  kirk-aisle  to  be  upsides 
with  Peter  Chrystie. 

When  Peter  heard  of  it,  he  remarked  that 
Barnboard's  story  was  an  unqualified  falsehood. 
This  was  not  the  exact  text  of  his  remarks,  but, 
as  one  might  say,  the  gist  only.  A  verbatim  re- 
port has  (perhaps  happily)  failed  to  come  down 
to  us. 

It  was  this  Peter  Chrystie  of  Nether  Neuk, 
elder  of  the  kirk  on  Sundays  and  practical  ma- 
terialist during  the  week,  who  was  now  seeking 
his  "  orra  man  "  *  through  all  the  intricacies  of 
the  farm-steading  and  outbuildings  of  Nether 
Neuk.  Rab  An'erson,  dyker,  herd,  poacher,  had 
been  warned  out  of  the  exceedingly  limited  prem- 
ises which  he  still  occupied  by  the  side  of  the 
Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax  as  many  as  twenty  times. 
He  had  been  dismissed  with  ignominy  from  the 
service  of  Peter  Chrystie  every  lawful  day  ever 
since  he  entered  it — twelve  years  ago.  And  gen- 
erally twice  every  Sunday. 

Nevertheless,    Rab   An'erson    still    remained 

*  Orra  man,  i.  e.  general  emergency  man,  who  is  required  to 
turn  his  hand  to  anything. 


RAB   AN'ERSON,   LAZY   TAED.  25 

both  in  the  dirty  cot-house  by  the  Lang  Wood, 
and  eke  in  the  service  of  Peter  Chrystie.  Indeed, 
one  reason  why  he  had  not  been  turned  out  of 
his  dwelling,  was  because  there  was  good  reason 
for  believing  that  no  other  beings  of  the  human 
species  would  have  consented  to  occupy  it  after 
him. 

A  ploughman,  who  had  been  engaged  by  Peter 
at  the  Rood  Fair  of  Cairn  Edward,  arrived  one 
day  to  examine  the  house  before  bringing  his 
family.  He  looked  just  once  in  at  Rab  An'erson's 
dominions,  sniffed  their  mingled  attar  of  chick- 
ens and  children,  and  then  made  one  remark.  It 
was  a  remark  with  some  pith  in  it.  Peter  Chrys- 
tie was  standing  by  his  elbow  and  had  the  benefit 
of  it. 

"  Ye  ask  me  to  bring  my  wife  an'  bairns  into 
the  like  o'  that,"  said  the  Crossmichael  plough- 
man. "  Man,  I  didna  mairry  a  soo!  "  * 

And  throwing  Peter's  shilling  of  "  arles  "  in 
his  astonished  face,  the  undaunted  ploughman 
took  a  bee-line  for  the  ferry  by  the  bonny  kirk- 
knowe  of  Balmaghie,  back  to  a  land  where  a 
working-man  was  at  least  decently  housed,  if 
somewhat  insufficiently  paid.  Peter  was  so  as- 
tonished that  he  had  not  even  the  presence  of 

*  Soo,  i.  e.  a  sow — the  mother  of  piglings. 


26  LADS'   LOVE. 

mind  to  threaten  the  man  from  Crossmichael  with 
the  Sheriff-Court  for  breaking  his  bargain — an 
omission  which  he  afterwards  bitterly  regretted. 

So,  in  the  absence  of  any  other  tenant,  Rab 
An'erson  stayed  on  in  the  cot-house.  His  two 
ragged  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  came  daily 
to  the  back  door  of  the  farmhouse  of  Nether 
Neuk,  to  receive  the  platefuls  of  stray  provisions 
which  Peter's  unobtrusive  second  wife,  Clemmy 
Kilpatrick,  hid  for  them,  slipping  the  victual 
under  her  apron  when  her  lord  and  master  was 
safely  out  of  the  way. 

Peter  had  married  Clemmy  when  she  was  a 
strong,  rosy-cheeked  byre-lass,  and  at  a  time  when 
his  three  handsome  daughters  were  but  tow- 
headed  girls,  skelping  bare-legged  about  the  fields 
of  Nether  Neuk.  But  in  spite  of  her  matronly 
dignities  a  byre-lass  Clemmy  remained;  and 
though  she  could  lawfully  claim  bed  and  board, 
in  practice  she  never  asked  more  than  the  latter. 
Once  a  month  or  so  Clemmy  would  make  the 
pretence  of  taking  breakfast  with  Peter  and  his 
daughters,  Nance,  Grace,  and  the  Hempie.  But 
it  was  only  as  one  might  say,  a  formal  Claim  of 
Right,  and  before  the  meal  was  half  over  Clemmy 
would  vanish  again  to  the  kitchen  parts  with  a 
sigh  of  immense  relief.  And  there  for  the  rest 
of  the  month  she  would  be  quite  happy  to  take 


RAB   AN'ERSON,   LAZY   TAED.  2/ 

her  meals,  along  with  the  hired  lasses  and  lads 
in  that  wide  equitable  republic  to  which  she  had 
been  born,  and  whose  free  speech  was  so  much 
cheerier  than  the  frosty  elegancies  of  the  "  ben 
room."  Nance  and  the  Hempie  often  wished 
that  they  could  have  accompanied  her  out  of  the 
chill  proprieties  of  the  "  parlour  "  in  which  Peter 
read  the  week-before-last's  newspaper,  into  this 
roystering  commonwealth  of  which  the  bound- 
aries were  the  ingle-neuk  and  the  kitchen  settle, 
and  where  all  the  latest  news  of  the  parish  was 
announced  even  before  it  happened,  while  mock- 
ing laughter  and  gay  comment  rang  loud  and 
long. 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Anerson,  lazy  taed?  " 
It  was  the  voice  of  Peter  Chrystie  which  came 
with  an  angry  snarl  through  the  doorway  where 
Clemmy  was  serving  the  Hoolet  and  the  De'il 
with  the  best  broken  meats  that  her  cupboard 
afforded.  These  two  unrepentant  prodigals,  the 
Hoolet  and  the  De'il,  hastened  to  thrust  their 
"  pieces  "  under  their  ragged  coats  as  soon  as 
ever  they  heard  the  first  note  of  Peter's  voice. 
For  though  the  "  Hoolet  "  was  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
and  well  grown  for  her  age,  she  was  dressed  ex- 
actly after  the  fashion  of  her  brother,  save  that 
a  little  below  her  knees  there  appeared  an  apology 
for  a  skirt,  so  short  and  unobtrusive  that  to  the 


28  LADS'   LOVE. 

cursory  glance  it  suggested  little  difference  of 
sex.  But  then  no  one,  except  perhaps  the  visit- 
ing policeman  on  his  monthly  rounds,  ever  cast 
a  look  more  than  cursory  at  either  the  Hoolet 
or  the  De'il. 

Presently  Peter  Chrystie  emerged  from  the 
back  door  of  Nether  Neuk  with  his  head  thrust 
forward  like  a  hawk  on  the  pounce.  He  saw  the 
pair  stand  guilty  and  manifestly  conscience- 
stricken  at  the  side  of  his  gable  wall — for  Clem- 
my  had  basely  deserted  at  the  first  sound  of  her 
husband's  approach.  The  De'il  was  scratching 
his  left  leg  with  his  right  toe.  The  Hoolet,  on 
the  other  hand,  used  the  left  toe  to  scratch  her 
right  leg.  Thus  by  a  simple  variation  both  man- 
ners and  modesty  were  suggested. 

"  Get  awa'  frae  aboot  my  doors,  ye  limmers!  " 
cried  Peter,  so  shrilly  that  his  words  sounded 
more  like  a  weasel  squeaking  out  of  a  dry  dyke 
than  the  voice  of  an  elder  of  the  kirk.  "  What 
mean  ye  by  slinking  up  dyke-backs? — To  see 
what  ye  can  steal,  I'se  warrant!  Let  me  see  ye 
here  again,  ye  vagabonds,  an'  I'll  lay  information 
wi'  the  polissman  the  verra  next  time  that  he 
comes  this  road." 

The  Hoolet  and  the  De'il  promptly  made  off, 
keeping  a  wary  eye  the  while  upon  the  advance 
of  the  enemy.  Peter  followed  as  rapidly  as  he 


RAB   AN'ERSON,    LAZY   TAED.  29 

was  able,  shaking  his  stick  at  them  each  time 
they  turned  round,  while  the  shrill  scrannel  pipe 
of  his  anger  fairly  screamed  anathemas.  As  often 
as  he  stopped  to  shake  his  staff  at  them,  they 
turned  to  bay  behind  some  whin  bush  on  the  edge 
of  the  moor,  or  lay  flat  among  the  heather,  with 
only  a  lock  or  two  of  the  indiscriminate  thatch 
on  their  heads  visible  over  the  two  pairs  of  bright 
and  watchful  eyes. 

But  as  soon  as  the  Hoolet  and  the  De'il  made 
sure  that  Peter  was  indeed  on  his  way  to  their 
paternal  mansion  down  by  the  edge  of  the  Lang 
Wood  of  Larbrax,  they  both  set  off  at  full  speed 
to  carry  the  news  to  Rob  Anderson,  their  father. 
He  was  a  great,  soft,  hulking  fellow,  with  a  ruddy 
face  of  the  most  beautiful  and  manly  type,  broad 
shoulders,  and  noble  blonde  beard.  When  his 
daughter  came  in  sight  of  her  parent,  he  was  en- 
gaged in  the  arduous  occupation  of  sitting  on  a 
stone  by  the  broken-down  gate-post  of  the  little 
cottage,  and  whittling  with  his  knife  a  section 
of  "  bourtree  "  into  a  practicable  whistle  for  pres- 
entation to  one  of  his  offspring. 

"  Faither,  he's  comin' — rin  an'  hide!  "  panted 
the  Hoolet,  who  had  taken  her  skirts  under  her 
arm  in  order  that  her  limbs  might  have  free  play 
in  the  race,  and  who  in  consequence  arrived  first. 
Because  so  soon  as  the  De'il  saw  that  he  was  to 


30  LADS'   LOVE. 

be  out-distanced,  he  stopped  and  searched  about 
for  the  sparsely  distributed  stones  on  the  edges 
of  the  moss  for  missiles  to  throw  at  his  sister. 
For  this  was  his  idea  of  morality.  He  believed 
in  woman  keeping  within  her  natural  limitations. 
To  pick  up  her  skirts  and  outrun  a  male  being 
was  to  break  down  the  most  ancient  landmarks 
and  to  trifle  with  the  moral  law.  So  the  De'il 
stopped  and  threw  all  the  stones  he  could  find 
at  his  sister. 

But  after  all  this  was  mere  byplay.  The  De'il 
was  bound  to  do  something  in  person  for  the 
paternal  honour.  So  he  slackened  off  and  let 
the  master  of  Nether  Neuk  come  up.  Then  he 
fluttered  here  and  there  and  pretended  lameness 
to  encourage  his  pursuer,  for  all  the  world  like  a 
peesweep  chased  by  a  collie  dog. 

"  Was't  my  faither  ye  were  wantin'?"  he 
queried,  keeping  carefully  out  of  the  reach  of 
Peter  Chrystie's  stick. 

"  Aye,  your  faither — wha  ither?  "  retorted 
Peter,  trying  to  edge  near  enough  to  the  De'il  to 
get  a  good  satisfactory  "  whang  "  at  him.  "  Saw 
ye  ocht  o'  Rab  An'erson,  lazy  taed?  " 

He  returned  to  his  usual  snarling  whine  at 
the  latter  words. 

"  Aye,"  said  the  De'il,  coming  so  near  that 
every  moment  Peter  felt  that  before  long  he  must 


RAB   AN'ERSON,   LAZY   TAED.  3! 

forget  himself  and  allow  his  pursuer  to  approach 
within  striking  distance;  "aye,  my  faither  has 
been  up  a'  this  mornin',  ever  since  risin'-time, 
looking  the  sheep  on  the  Back  Hill  o'  Bar- 
mark." 

"  Ye  lie,  Rab's  De'il!  "  said  Peter  pleasantly, 
manoeuvring  for  the  upper  side,  while  the  boy 
finessed  with  subtle  calculations  as  to  the  length 
of  Peter's  arm  and  his  hazel  staff  when  taken  to- 
gether. 

Suddenly  Peter  struck.  It  seemed  an  easy 
shot,  and  with  nine  loons  out  of  ten  it  would 
have  succeeded.  But  not  with  Rab's  De'il.  For 
that  youth  simply  removed  himself  two  yards 
farther  back,  by  some  occult  means  which  was 
not  clear  even  to  a  close  onlooker.  He  had 
been  quite  obviously  within  easy  range!  Peter's 
aim  was  accurate,  his  blow  quick  and  well-timed. 
Yet  when  the  hazel  reached  the  place  where  a 
moment  before  the  victim  had  stood,  lo!  he 
was  not  there.  Instead,  he  appeared  two  or 
three  yards  farther  up  the  hill-side,  with  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  "  hunkering "  a  little. 
His  wide  lips  were  open,  and  his  teeth  showed 
at  the  wicks  of  his  mouth,  like  those  of  a  dog 
that  has  been  kicked,  and  which  means  to  take 
a  more  active  part  in  the  next  act  of  the 
drama. 


32  LADS'    LOVE. 

"Ah-aMih!"  remarked  Rab's  De'il,  and  it 
was  all  he  said. 

But  the  tone  in  which  he  said  it  conveyed  a 
whole  world  of  contempt,  defiance,  resentment. 
An  entire  vocabulary  of  taunts  could  have  said 
no  more. 

Peter  Chrystie  did  not  strive  to  recover  his 
position.  He  turned  away  towards  the  door  of 
the  cot-house  by  the  Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax. 
He  would  go  in,  he  thought,  and  see  if  the  De'il 
had  for  once  been  correct  in  the  statement  that 
his  father  was  away  herding  the  sheep,  as  was 
his  duty,  on  the  Back  Hill  of  Earmark.  There 
was,  indeed,  hardly  any  chance  that  Rab's  De'il 
spoke  the  truth.  Still,  such  a  thing  might  hap- 
pen once  in  a  way — as  it  were,  by  accident.  So 
Peter  Chrystie  took  the  nearest  road  to  the  cot- 
tage, gritting  his  teeth  with  unsatisfied  anger, 
and  muttering  sullenly  between  them,  "  Wait 
till  I  get  ye,  my  man!  Oh,  wait  till  I  get  haud 
o'  ye,  Rab  An'erson,  lazy  taed!" 

As  Nether  Neuk  drew  near  the  door  of  the 
little  "  but-and-ben,"  he  disturbed  several  broods 
of  droopy  chickens,  scrawny,  be-draggled,  and 
scraggy  for  the  most  part,  whose  mothers  were 
busily  scratching  for  imaginary  worms  on  mounds 
of  loose  debris  which  had  already  been  turned 
over  a  thousand  times  in  a  like  vain  pursuit. 


RAB   AN'ERSON,    LAZY   TAED.  33 

These  motherly  biddies  drooped  their  wings  and 
hoarsely  "  scratched,"  as  at  sight  of  a  hawk,  when 
the  master  of  the  farm  approached.  Two  or 
three  mongrel  curs,  lurchers  and  collies  with 
small  claim  to  pride  of  ancestry,  lumbered  yelp- 
ingly  out  of  the  house  or  stood  erect  with  their 
Jront  paws  on  the  dyke,  ready  to  assist  in  repel- 
ling the  enemy.  But  it  was  the  Hoolet  who 
stood  most  manfully  in  the  breach. 

"  My  faither  is  no  weel  the  day,"  she  said, 
standing  with  arms  akimbo  in  the  doorway;  "  he 
got  a  sair  income  in  his  side  this  mornin'  on  the 
hill,  and  he  had  to  come  hame  and  tak'  to  his 
bed." 

"  Humph,"  said  Peter  unbelievingly:  "  let  me 
see  him!  " 

"  He's  verra  poorly,"  persisted  the  loyal 
Hoolet;  "he's  no  fit  to  be  up.  Ye  micht  no 
mak'  a  noise.  The  De'il  and  me  gaed  oot  o' 
the  hoose  to  let  him  ha'e  some  peace  and  quiet- 
ness." 

And  so  eager  did  the  girl  become  that  she 
actually  took  Peter  by  the  edge  of  his  coat- 
sleeve  to  keep  him  back,  if  only  for  a  moment, 
in  order  that  her  father  might  have  time  to  com- 
plete his  dispositions. 

"  Let  go  o'  my  coat,  ye  besom,"  cried  the 
angry  elder;  "  the  De'il's  in  the  lassie " 


34 


LADS'   LOVE. 


"  Na,  na,"  said  the  Hoolet  excitedly;  "  it's  no 
me  that  he's  in — it's  my  brither." 

But  Peter  Chrystie  was  by  this  time  within 
the  kitchen  room  of  the  little  cot-house.  He 
went  straight  to  the  bed,  which,  with  its  solid 
four-posted  bulk  (a  remnant  of  the  better  time, 
when  Rab  An'erson  had  espoused  a  wife  "  with 
furniture  "),  filled  up  all  one  end  of  the  cottage. 
The  huge  form  of  the  temporarily  invalided  shep- 
herd lay  stretched  from  corner  to  corner.  Not 
even  his  head  was  distinctly  visible,  for  a  dirty 
blue  quilt,  which  had  once  had  a  white  pattern 
upon  it,  was  drawn  over  all. 

Peter  Chrystie  wasted  no  words.  He  did 
not  condole  with  the  sufferer,  from  whom, 
in  the  extremity  of  his  distress,  most  melan- 
cholious  sounds  intended  to  be  as  suggestive 
as  possible  of  groans  of  pain,  continually  pro- 
ceeded. 

The  master  of  Nether  Neuk  simply  lifted  his 
stout  hazel  "  rung  "  above  his  head  and  brought 
it  down  on  the  swollen  and  shapeless  form  which 
lay  stretched  on  the  bed.  And  as  he  laid  on 
heartily,  with  all  the  strength  of  his  willing  arm, 
like  a  thresher  on  sheaves  in  a  barn,  he  accom- 
panied the  exercise  with  appropriate  excogita- 
tions. 

"  Ye     great     muckle     fushionless     sumph " 


RAB   AN'ERSON,   LAZY   TAED.  35 

(whack  !\  "tak'  that!"  (whack 'Y- "and  that!" 
(thump !  thump  /),  "  lyin'  hulkin'  there  in  your 
naked  bed  while  ither  folk  are  doin'  your  wark! 
D'ye  think  I  ha'e  nocht  better  to  do,  wi'  a'  this 
great  farm-toon  dependin'  on  me,  than  to  be 
threshin'  your  lazy,  guid-for-naethin'  banes  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  day  "  (whack!  thump /)?  "  I 
learn  ye  to  pretend  ye  ha'e  an  income  in  your 
side"  (thump!  thump!),  "ye  thrawn-faced,  slack- 
twisted  muckle  haythen  ye!" 

But  at  this  point  Peter,  by  means  of  trial 
pokes  with  his  unoccupied  arm,  suddenly  discov- 
ered that  he  had  been  harmlessly  expending  all 
the  pith  and  smeddum  of  his  blows  upon  a  cer- 
tain judiciously  arranged  bolster,  which  Rab  had 
accommodated  to  the  ridges  of  his  person  at  the 
points  most  liable  to  attack.  Whereupon  Rab's 
master,  with  a  quick  jerk  of  his  hand,  removed  the 
bolster  to  the  ground.  His  very  next  attempt 
got  home. 

"  Ye  menseless  muckle  hound!  "  (So  the  lec- 
ture proceeded,  the  stout  hazel  stick  valiantly 
scoring  the  logical  sequences.) 

"  Ow,  ow!"  (whack!)  "  Maister,  mercy! 
mercy!  I'm  no  weel." 

"  I'll  learn  ye  to  sup  sorrow  wi'  a  horn  spune, 
ye  de'il's  birkie,  howkin'  here  atween  the  bed- 
claes,  when  your  yowes  are  faain'  aval  amang  the 

4 


36  LADS'   LOVE. 

ditches  and  your  hoggs  whammelin'  in  the  black 
hags  by  the  score!  "  * 

"  Ow,  ow,  ow!  Maister,  ha'e  dune,  ha'e  pa- 
tience! I'm  a  deein'  man!  " 

"  I'll  ha'e  dune  wi'  the  like  o'  you,  Rab  An'er- 
son.  Ye  are  eneuch  to  break  the  heart  o'  Job 
himsel'.  Faith,  it  was  easy  for  him  to  bide  and 
be  thankfu' — wi'  a  comfortable  midden-heid  to 
scart  himsel'  on,  and  the  pat-stick  to  do  it  wi'! 
He  never  had  the  like  o'  you  to  break  his  heart, 
ye  thievin'  sorrow.  Patience — I'll  no  ha'e  pa- 
tience till  I  ha'e  broken  every  bane  in  your  great 
lazy  calf's  body!  " 

*  The  fanner  intimated  to  Rab  that  while  he  lay  thus  abed  his 
sheep  were  lying  helplessly  on  their  backs  and  being  drowned  in 
moss  holes. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   NETHER   NEUK   LASSES. 

When  at  last  Rab  An'erson  was  started  by 
his  master  on  a  new  career  of  diligence  and  prob- 
ity (which  lasted  precisely  so  long  as  he  was 
within  range  of  Peering  Peter's  single-barrelled 
field-glass)  he  took  the  line  of  the  hill-dyke  with 
his  dogs  after  him,  striding  onward  in  the  most 
business-like  way.  But,  sad  to  relate,  so  soon  as 
he  had  reached  the  other  side  he  plumped  down, 
pulled  the  knife  and  the  "  bourtree  "  branch  out 
of  his  pocket,  and  fell  to  work  as  before,  improv- 
ing and  finishing  the  whistle  which  was  destined 
to  enliven  the  leisure  of  the  De'il. 

Here  Rab  sat  contentedly  till  the  afternoon 
was  pretty  well  advanced.  Then  he  went  cower- 
ing down  by  the  dykeside  till  he  came  to  the  edge 
of  the  hill  of  Earmark,  over  whose  green-ribbed 
heathery  expanses  the  sheep,  which  ought  to  have 
been  his  charge,  were  scattered.  He  sent  one  of 
his  dogs  scouring  round  the  outliers  of  the  flock, 

37 


38  LADS'  LOVE. 

and  having  made  sure  that  no  very  large  propor- 
tion of  the  animals  could  have  wandered  or  been 
destroyed  since  his  last  visit,  Rab  came  down  the 
hill  again  towards  the  gate  of  Nether  Neuk,  with 
the  wearied  air  of  one  who  has  been  out  all  day 
upon  the  heather  in  the  painful  pursuit  of  duty. 

"  Ha'e  ye  ocht  to  eat,  Clemmy?  "  he  asked  at 
the  back  door,  having  first  assured  himself  that 
his  master  was  not  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  I'm  some  dootfu'  that  there's  nocht  left, 
Rab,"  said  the  nominal  mistress  of  Nether  Neuk, 
who  was  under  the  apprehension  that  Peter 
might  come  on  the  scene  at  any  moment.  She 
had  already  escaped  one  sufficient  peril  that  morn- 
ing, when  she  got  the  Hoolet  and  the  De'il  away 
from  the  door  without  her  lord  seeing  the  pro- 
vender concealed  under  their  ragged  coats. 

"  Nonsense!  "  cried  a  brisk  voice  from  the 
inner  kitchen.  "  Of  course  there's  plenty  o'  guid 
broth  in  the  pot.  Come  ben,  Rab,  and  ha'e  a 
platefu' — and  if  my  faither  says  a  word,  I'll  daud 
his  lugs  for  him." 

And  with  these  brave  words  there  entered 
upon  the  scene  Nance  Chrystie,  the  eldest  of  the 
three  daughters  of  Peering  Peter.  The  Nether 
Neuk  lasses — my  heart  is  not  yet  so  old  but  it 
beats  at  the  words.  For  in  those  days  the  Nether 
Neuk  lasses  were  the  joy  and  pride  of  the  parish, 


THE   NETHER   NEUK   LASSES. 


39 


the  toast  of  every  bachelor,  and  the  mark  of  every 
eye,  envious  or  admiring  according  to  sex  and 
age  about  the  kirk  door.  In  short,  they  were  the 
three  tricksome  Graces  of  Whinnyliggate.  At 
that  time  I  was  no  more  than  the  eldest  son  of 
a  neighbouring  farm-house.  And  I  can  vouch 
for  the  fact  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  be  the 
son  and  heir  of  Saunders  and  Mary  McQuhirr  of 
Drumquhat.*  But  nevertheless,  aided  by  good 
health,  a  sound  digestion,  and  an  excellent  con- 
ceit of  my  own  abilities,  I  did  not  demean  myself 
so  very  ill,  even  in  such  an  arduous  situation  as 
that  of  the  eldest  hope  of  a  Cameronian  ruling 
elder.  I  had  been  also  one  year  at  the  College 
of  Edinburgh,  which  perhaps  helped  materially, 
at  least  so  far  as  the  conceit  went. 

It  had  become  my  custom  to  go  over  every 
week  to  see  the  Nether  Neuk  lasses.  This,  in 
fact,  was  a  practice  somewhat  common  in  the 
parish.  And  though  I  was  the  youngest  swain  on 
the  muster-roll,  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of  being 
behindhand  at  the  end  of  the  day.  But  I  do 
admit  that  my  wooing  was  not  encouraged  by 
Peter  Chrystie.  For  the  canny  old  fox  had  a 

*  It  may  be  well  to  say  here  that  my  name  is  pronounced 
"  M'Whirr  "  by  the  elect  and  "  Ma-Whurr  "  by  the  vulgar,  with  a 
burr  like  a  grindstone.  My  father's  farm  meets  the  ear  as  Drum- 
what,  with  a  strong  accent  on  the  "  what." 


40 


LADS'   LOVE. 


very  shrewd  idea  that  he  would  have  no  difficulty 
in  marrying  off  his  three  bonny,  blythe,  and  ex- 
ceedingly well-tochered  daughters.  So  in  the 
meantime,  and  till  the  best  of  all  possible  matches 
should  come  along,  it  was  his  declared  intention 
that  Nance  and  Grace  should  remain  in  their  sev- 
eral situations  of  housekeeper  and  cheese-maker 
to  the  farm-town  of  Nether  Neuk.  As  for  the 
Hempie,  she  was  "  but  a  lassie,"  and,  in  her  fa- 
ther's eyes,  did  not  count.  In  mine,  however, 
she  did — to  begin  with,  at  least. 

It  was  Nance  Chrystie,  therefore,  who  now 
came  into  the  kitchen  of  Nether  Neuk,  and  whose 
bright  imperiousness  turned  the  scale  in  favour 
of  the  "  Lazy  Taed."  For  though  Peter  Chrystie 
ruled  all  others  in  his  dominions  with  a  rod  of 
iron,  his  three  daughters  generally  got  their  own 
way  within  doors.  The  one  exception,  concern- 
ing which  their  father  stood  firm  as  adamant, 
was  that  no  braw  wooers  should  be  encouraged 
to  come  up  the  lang  glen — at  least,  not  without 
Peter's  own  sanction  and  good-will. 

So  the  Master  of  Nether  Neuk  was  on  hand 
to  bar  the  way  with  his  shot-gun  if  he  so  much 
as  heard  of  any  birkies  coming  in  the  gloaming 
over  the  lea  with  intent  to  "  see  the  lasses."  And 
he  admitted  to  the  sacred  "  parlour  "  only  the 
laird  of  Butterhole  and  the  laird  of  Sourdubs — 


THE   NETHER  NEUK   LASSES.  41 

two  bien  householders  of  about  his  own  age,  with 
bald  heads  and  circumferences  as  comfortable  as 
their  circumstances. 

And  thus  Peter,  without  intending  it,  made 
his  three  lasses  the  most  popular  young  women 
in  the  countryside.  Possibly  they  might  have 
been  so  without  his  interference,  for  they  were 
both  wondrous  blythe  and  wondrous  bonny.  But 
the  difficulty  of  arranging  a  tryst  with  the  Nether 
Neuk  maidens,  and  the  certainty  of  difficulty 
with  their  father  in  the  event  of  a  discovery, 
stirred  the  soul  of  every  bold  bachelor  within 
ten  miles  with  all  the  emulation  of  a  knightly 
adventure. 

Often  it  had  been  my  fate  to  accompany  the 
pick  of  the  knight-errantry  of  Whinnyliggate  on 
such  quests — for,  though  Nance  was  about  my 
own  age,  she  had  already  become  a  reigning  belle 
while  I  was  but  a  halfling  boy.  There  was,  for 
instance,  Allan  Herd,  the  eldest  son  and  heir  of 
Herd  of  Herbishaw,  a  youth  of  fine  athletic  build 
and  much  caution  in  affairs  of  the  heart.  He 
had  been  for  some  time  deeply  (if  temporarily) 
attached  to  Nance,  whose  scornful  and  often 
broken  promise  to  meet  him  at  the  corner  of  the 
orchard,  had  not  yet  been  fulfilled.  Then,  as  it 
was  unsafe  to  attempt  the  bold  enterprise  of 
Nether  Neuk  without  reinforcements,  Allan  took 


42  LADS'   LOVE. 

with  him  one  Matthew  Kerr,  the  second  son  of  the 
Laird  of  Killogie  Easter,  a  youth  who  was  ex- 
pecting his  father  to  put  him  into  a  farm  of  his 
own  at  the  coming  Whitsunday  term. 

As  for  me,  being  no  more  than  a  lad  of  twen- 
ty, home  from  college  and  wholly  without  inten- 
tions, either  of  serious  love  or  practical  matri- 
mony, I  was  at  first  but  little  counted  on.  Never- 
theless, there  was  always  the  Hempie  left  for  me. 
And  that  heavy-handed  and  free-spoken  young 
woman  was  nothing  loath  to  take  a  walk  to  the 
Wishing  Well  at  the  loaning  end  during  the  time 
that  her  sisters,  Nance  and  Grace,  were  enter- 
taining their  swains  of  the  evening  at  their  own 
several  corners  of  the  orchard — fair  play  and  no 
trespassing.  I  was  not  seriously  concerned  in 
the  matter,  though  I  envied  Allan  Herd  more 
than  a  little.  For  Nance  was  the  bonniest  of  the 
three,  and  though  I  was  too  young  for  her  to 
notice  me  among  so  many  bearded  men,  that  fact 
did  not  prevent  me  from  following  her  a  little 
wistfully  with  my  eyes. 

It  will  easily  be  believed  that  every  single 
man,  woman,  and  child  about  the  farm-town  of 
Nether  Neuk  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  evening 
amusements  of  the  Nether  Neuk  lasses.  But 
such  was  the  fellow-feeling  of  the  neighbourhood 
for  the  prosecution  of  the  divine  passion  under 


Nance  was  the  bonniest. 


THE   NETHER   NEUK  LASSES.  43 

difficulties,  so  universal  the  cult  of  "  the  canny 
hour  at  e'en,"  that  not  so  much  as  a  whisper 
came  to  disturb  the  mind  of  Peter  Chrystie.  He 
sat  composedly  in  the  "  room  "  and  sipped  his 
toddy  with  the  "  guardevin  "  at  his  elbow,  and 
the  lairds  of  Sourdubs  and  Butterhole  sitting  op- 
posite him,  looking  complacently  at  each  other 
over  their  stomachs,  like  great  red-gilled  swallows 
out  of  their  nests  in  the  eaves. 

"  Whaur's  Nance?  "  Peter  would  suddenly 
call  out  at  the  pitch  of  his  voice  to  Clemmy,  his 
wife,  who  was  clattering  pans  in  the  kitchen 
in  the  final  throes  of  cleaning  up  for  the 
night. 

"  Can  ye  no  answer  me,  woman?  "  he  would 
shout  yet  louder.  "  Did  ye  no  hear  me  speerin' 
whaur  the  lasses  are?  " 

"  What's  your  wull,  gudeman?  "  the  mistress 
of  Nether  Neuk  would  inquire,  coming  to  the 
door,  with  the  most  innocent  face  in  the  world. 

"  Oh,  the  lasses,  said  ye — puir  things!  they 
are  no  through  yet  wi'  their  wark  in  the  dairy. 
And  as  it's  getting  gye  near  the  darkenin',  doot- 
less  they  are  keepin'  yin  anither  company.  For 
as  ye  ken,  young  things  are  a'  easy  scared  in  the 
gloaming  at  bogles  an'  sic  like!" 

"  Weel,"  said  Peter,  "  gang  your  ways  oot  to 
them  and  tell  Nance  and  Grace  to  come  ben  and 


44 


LADS'   LOVE. 


entertain  their  lairdships.  An'  bid  the  Hempie 
gang  up  to  her  bed  this  very  minute." 

"  'Deed,  guidman,  and  I'll  do  that! "  his  wife 
would  reply  obediently,  and  forthwith  return  to 
the  kitchen  as  silently  as  she  came. 

But  unless  the  summons  was  made  for  the 
third  or  fourth  time,  Clemmy  did  not  go  the 
length  of  the  dairy  to  inquire.  Not  till  Peter, 
being  stirred  to  wrath  by  the  continued  non-ap- 
pearance of  his  daughters  had  started  to  his  feet 
and  declared  that  he  would  himself  go  and  fetch 
them,  would  the  loyal  Clemmy  hasten  to  break  in 
upon  the  somewhat  tart  sweetness  of  Love's 
young  dream,  as  it  was  being  dreamed  at  the  sev- 
eral corners  of  the  orchard  by  Nance  and  Grace 
Chrystie.  The  Hempie  and  I  at  the  Wishing 
Well  did  not  count.  For  we  sat  on  opposite  sides 
of  it  and  threw  stones  and  turf  at  one  another — 
threw  them  to  hurt  too.  This  we  did  because  we 
despised  love — or  at  least  the  silly  kind  which 
requires  the  sheltered  and  sequestered  corners  of 
orchards  for  its  manifestation. 

"  Lasses,"  at  last  Clemmy's  voice  would  be 
heard  from  the  byre-end,  "  ye  had  better  be  corn- 
in'  your  ways  in.  Your  faither  is  on  foot,  and 
there's  no  sayin'  when  he  may  tak'  it  into  his 
head  to  wander  doon  by  the  orchard." 

This  information  was  delivered,  as  one  might 


THE   NETHER   NEUK   LASSES. 


45 


say,  "  at  large."  For  Clemmy  could  see  no  living 
being  through  the  dense  leafage  of  the  plum  and 
"  gean  "  trees,  which,  together  with  the  nearer 
ricks  in  the  stack-yard,  hid  Nance  and  Grace 
from  hostile  observation.  As  for  the  Hempie, 
she  had  pulled  me  down  under  the  shelter  of  a 
wall  at  the  first  alarm. 

"  Wheesh,  Alec,"  she  said  in  my  ear,  "  it's 
only  Nance  and  Grace  that  are  to  gang  in  to  en- 
tertain auld  Soordubs  and  Butterhole.  They 
dinna  want  me! " 

But  at  this  moment  Nance,  who  was  not  in 
the  best  of  humours  at  having  to  depart  so  in- 

\ 

opportunely,  cried  out — 

"  Hempie,  ye  are  to  come  your  ways  in  this 
minute.  Mind,  I  ken  where  ye  are,  and  wha  it  is 
that's  wi'  ye.  So  ye  had  better  be  in  your  bed 
before  I  send  my  faither  to  ye." 

"The  besom!"  cried  the  Hempie  bitterly, 
pouting  out  her  lip  and  stamping  her  foot  in  the 
shelter  of  the  haystack.  "  I'll  be  even  wi'  her  for 
that.  Because  she  has  to  gang  and  flairdie  *  auld 
Bald-heided  Dick,  and  Grace  has  to  sit  mim  in 
the  corner  wi'  gleyed  Robin  o'  Soordubs,  am  I, 
forsooth,  to  come  in  and  gang  to  my  bed  like 
as  if  I  was  a  bairn  playin'  at  '  Steal  the  Bonnets.' 

*  Flatter. 


46  LADS'   LOVE. 

I  ken  brawly  what  it  is.  It's  a'  because  ye've 
been  at  the  college  and  Nance  wants  you,  when 
she  gets  tired  o'  Allan." 

And  here  the  Hempie  showed  unmistakable 
tokens  of  "  letting  the  tear  doonfa',"  so  that  in 
my  inexperience  I  endeavoured  to  comfort  her, 
by  the  methods  usually  approven  in  such  circum- 
stances. But  I  might  have  known  better.  For 
the  Hempie  promptly  took  me  a  ringing  clout  on 
the  side  of  the  head. 

"Keep  your  distance,  Alec,  my  man!"  she 
said.  "  Arms  aboot  waists  are  a'  verra  weel  for 
Nance  and  Grace  that  are  silly  craiturs  and  in- 
clined to  be  daft  aboot  men.  But  I  wad  ha'e  ye 
mind  that  I  am  no  yin  o'  that  kind — specially 
when  I  ken  fine  that  ye  like  Nance  better  than 
me." 

I  had  the  good  judgment  within  me  to  be 
silent. 

"  But  I'll  be  even  wi'  the  pair  o'  them,  grown- 
up though  they  think  themsel's,"  she  continued. 

At  this  point  a  plan  came  into  my  head, 
which  made  me  ripple  with  inward  laughter.  I 
thought  I  saw  my  way  to  avenge  myself  upon 
everybody  concerned — upon  the  Hempie  for  the 
blow  with  which  my  ear  still  tingled,  upon  Nance 
and  Grace  for  interrupting  my  tryst,  all  for  spite 
because  they  had  to  go  in  themselves;  and  a  way 


THE   NETHER   NEUK   LASSES. 


47 


also  to  make  Allan  Herd  and  Matthew  Kerr  most 
frantically  jealous. 

"  tlempie,"  said  I,  catching  her  by  the  arm, 
"  see  here.  Do  ye  want  to  pay  back  Nance  and 
Grace  for  their  trick?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  the  Hempie  with  great  readiness, 
"I  do  that!" 

"  Then,"  answered  I,  "  leave  the  lang  window 
o'  the  ben  room  off  the  sneck,*  after  the  lairds  are 
awa'  and  your  faither  is  gane  up  to  his  bed." 

"  What  are  ye  gaun  to  do  wi'  the  lang  win- 
dow open?  "  retorted  the  Hempie  with  a  quick 
look  of  suspicion.  "  Sit  up  wi'  Nance  if  she'll  let 
ye,  I  warrant !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  ignoring  the  unjust  accusation, 
"  juist  to  come  in  and  sit  doon  on  a  chair,  and 
tell  Nance  and  Grace  that  I  ha'e  come  to  in- 
form their  faither  where  they  were  the  time  he 
thocht  them  oot  in  the  dairy — and  what  they 
were  doin' ! " 

"  Did  they  no  see  you  wi'  me?  "  queried  the 
Hempie  anxiously. 

"  Na,  they  never  saw  me,"  I  asserted  with 
truth  and  candour.  It  is  always  cheering,  when 
one  is  lying  back  and  forth,  to  come  on  one  un- 
doubted truth  which  can  be  made  serviceable. 

*  Latch. 


48  LADS'   LOVE. 

An  extra  emphasis  on  that  seems  to  justify  and 
verify  all  the  rest. 

The  Hempie  appeared  to  weigh  the  probabili- 
ties of  success.  She  evidently  admired  the  method 
by  which  I  proposed  to  pay  off  our  joint;  scores 
against  Nance  and  Grace. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  she  said,  "  if  ye  will  swear  to  die 
and  double  die,  if  ye  ever  tell  a  living  soul  that  it 
was  me  that  left  the  window  open." 

I  gave  the  terrible  oath  required  of  me,  con- 
demning myself  to  instant  dissolution  in  the  event 
of  revealing  the  secret. 

The  Hempie's  good-night  consisted,  as  usual, 
of  a  sound  smack  on  the  cheek,  which  made  my 
teeth  chatter.  To  this  (also  as  usual)  I  replied  by 
snatching  up  a  long  stick,  used  for  pulling  down 
the  hay  from  the  stack,  and  giving  chase.  Half- 
way across  the  close  I  hit  the  minx  as  hard  as  I 
could  across  the  shoulders.  At  least,  I  tried  to 
do  so,  but  that  agile  young  lady  promptly  made  a 
leap  to  the  side,  and  the  blow  descended  harm- 
lessly on  the  flying  skirts. 

"  Um  ! "  she  cried  tauntingly,  pulling  a  face 
from  the  embattled  fortress  of  the  front  door. 
"  Think  you  are  Mr.  Clever  frae  Clipcloots  Cas- 
tle, do  ye?  Man,  ye  are  as  blind  as  a  bat 
and  as  gleyed  in  the  e'e  as  daft  Robin  o'  Soor- 
dubs!" 


THE   NETHER   NEUK   LASSES.  49 

And  in  a  moment  more  she  was  within  the 
shelter  of  the  house  of  Nether  Neuk. 

But  I  had  not  much  doubt  that  after  all  she 
would  keep  her  promise,  and  let  me  in  at  the  long 
window  after  the  coast  was  clear  for  my  venture. 


CHAPTER   V. 

WAGER  OF  BATTLE. 

The  window  in  question  was  a  French  one, 
which  owed  its  being  to  the  taste  of  a  former 
factor  on  the  Whinnyliggate  estate,  whose  wife 
had  been  at  a  boarding-school  for  six  months, 
and  after  that  had  come  to  Nether  Neuk  with 
romantic  ideas.  She  considered  that  it  would  be 
a  most  pleasing  thing  to  step  from  the  window  of 
her  sitting-room  out  into  the  garden  of  roses, 
and  there  wander  with  the  partner  of  her  joys 
under  a  perpetual  full  moon.  But  half  a  dozen 
children  and  the  necessity  of  making  and  mend- 
ing for  such  a  colony  of  sturdy  rogues,  together 
with  the  remarkable  postnuptial  partiality  of  her 
husband  for  the  blaze  of  the  fireside  rather  than 
for  the  chill  breezes  of  Whinnyliggate  moon- 
light, caused  the  long  window  to  be  less  and  less 
used.  Yet  under  the  star  of  the  Chrysties,  and 
especially  since  Nance  and  Grace  had  become  so 

precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  youth  of  the  parish 

50 


WAGER  OF   BATTLE.  5 1 

by  reason  of  their  father's  jealous  guardianship, 
the  romance  which,  alas!  remained  an  ideal  to  the 
factor's  wife,  had  blossomed  into  a  reality  under 
the  multiplied  exigencies  of  the  love  affairs  of 
the  Nether  Neuk  lasses. 

To  this  window,  therefore,  I  stealthily  went, 
and  being  but  little  more  than  twenty  I  naturally 
held  all  fair  in  love  and  war.  And  of  a  truth  it 
was  both  love  and  war  when  one  went  to  Nether 
Neuk,  daring  at  once  the  fickle  favour  of  the 
maids  and  the  bell-mouthed  muzzle  of  the  mas- 
ter's blunderbuss.  I  had  not,  therefore,  the  least 
little  delicate  scruple  about  looking  in  through 
the  opening  between  the  curtains. 

Peter  Chrystie  sat  in  the  midst,  toasting  him- 
self before  the  fire  of  peat,  which  already  the 
chill  air  of  the  moorland  nights  made  not  un- 
welcome. He  warmed  his  toes  and  sunned  him- 
self in  the  radiant  heat  of  his  own  importance, 
also  in  the  glory  of  having  three  bonny  daughters, 
who,  he  well  knew,  were  at  once  the  best-toch- 
ered  *  and  the  most  sought-after  lasses  in  the 
parish — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  in  half  a  score 
of  parishes. 

On  one  side  of  him  sat  Richard  Linton,  the 
laird  of  Butterhole  (otherwise  and  more  widely 

*  Dowered. 


52  LADS'   LOVE. 

and  intimately  known  as  Beld-headed  Dick),  and 
on  the  other  he  was  supported  by  Gleyed  Robin, 
who  to  his  patronymic  of  Taggart  added  the  fat 
acres  of  Sourdubs  and  a  conceit  of  himself  broader 
than  Galloway  and  deeper  than  the  Solway  in 
midmost  channel. 

Nance  sat  with  her  sewing  in  the  chimney- 
corner  by  the  side  of  the  laird  of  Butterhole, 
prim  and  placid  as  though  she  had  never  dreamed 
of  parting  with  a  lad  at  the  corner  of  the  orchard 
less  than  ten  minutes  before.  Her  hair  was 
daintily  arranged,  as  if  no  hand  had  ever  ruffled 
its  placidity.  And  she  nodded  abstractedly  to 
the  stolidly  complimentary  remarks  of  Beld- 
headed  Dick,  as  if  the  price  of  "  nowt  "  beasts 
was  her  only  thought,  and  the  knitting  of  rig- 
and-fur  stockings  her  sole  pleasure. 

To  say  that  the  attention  which  Nance  be- 
stowed on  the  laird  of  Butterhole  was  perfunctory 
is  not  only  to  make  use  of  a  very  ugly  but  of 
a  wholly  inadequate  word.  The  young  woman 
simply  answered  "  Yea  "  or  "  Nay  "  at  random, 
and  kept  a  steadfastly  suspicious  eye  upon  the 
laird's  most  delicate  and  intimate  advances. 

For  it  was  Butterhole's  custom,  as  the  light 
wine  of  the  country  mounted  to  his  head,  to 
hitch  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  that  of  Mistress 
Nance  Chrystie  of  Nether  Neuk,  who  did  not 


WAGER   OF  BATTLE.  53 

at  all  relish  the  proximity.  So  that  as  he  ap- 
proached, Nance  invisibly  retired,  till  her  stool 
was  driven  to  the  very  extremity  of  the  semi- 
circle about  the  fire,  and 'she  was  in  danger  of 
being  captured  in  the  angle. 

Then  at  the  last  moment,  and  having  dallied 
with  danger  till  it  grew  acute,  upon  the  pretext 
of  consulting  her  sister  concerning  the  work  on 
which  she  was  engaged,  Nance  would  slip  round 
to  the  other  side  of  the  ingle  and  whisper  into 
Grace's  ear  how  "  that  doited  auld  fule,  Dick 
Linton,  would  soon  drive  her  crazy."  Here  she 
was  wont  to  stay,  keeping  up  a  low  fire  of  uncom- 
plimentary remarks  over  her  sister's  shoulder  till 
her  father's  voice  recalled  her. 

"  Nance,  ye  besom,  what  are  ye  claverin'  there 
for?  Gang  ower  by  and  enterteen  the  laird  o' 
Butterhole.  Do  ye  no  see  he  is  by  his  lane? 
Was  it  for  this  I  payed  good  yellow  siller  for 
twa  hale  quarters  to  Miss  McTavish  at  Cairn 
Edward  for  the  feenishin'  o'  ye?  " 

Whereupon  Nance,  having  confided  a  private 
pout  of  uttermost  boredom  to  her  sister,  and 
shaken  her  fist  behind  the  back  of  the  uncon- 
scious laird  of  Butterhole  as  she  passed,  once 
more  set  herself  down  on  her  own  side  of  the 
fireplace  with  a  very  ill  grace  indeed. 

All  this  I  could  see  and  hear  from  the  window. 


54 


LADS'   LOVE. 


The  Hempie,  having  sallied  forth  again  on  her 
quality  of  mine  own  familiar  enemy,  stood  by 
me  and  peeped  also.  And  as  there  was  but  one 
good  spyhole,  we  scuffled  for  the  best  place  till 
Peter  Chrystie  looked  suspiciously  up  at  the 
noise. 

"  What's  that  at  the  lang  winnock,  lasses?  " 
he  said.  "  No  nicht-wanderin'  callants,  I  hope, 
Nance?  Ye  saw  nane  o'  that  breed  o'  cattle 
aboot  the  Nether  Neuk  this  nicht,  did  ye?  " 

Whereupon  Nance  and  Grace  with  the  faces 
of  the  family  cat  after  she  has  licked  the  cream 
off  her  whiskers,  declared  that  they  had  observed 
nobody  answering  to  their  father's  description, 
"  if  it  werena  a  mason  lad  gaun  hame  wi'  his 
square  and  mell  *  ower  his  shooder,  and  Ned 
Kenna  the  packman  from  Dairy  linking  awa'  to 
the  change  house  in  the  clachan." 

"  Oh,  what  a  lee!  "  cried  the  Hempie  suddenly 
at  my  elbow,  and  fled,  leaving  me,  fixed  and 
paralyzed,  to  face  the  wrath  of  Peter,  the  angry 
parent. 

But  I  retired  as  rapidly  as  I  could  get  my 
feet  to  pass  each  other,  making  a  bee-line  to- 
wards the  wood  at  the  end  of  the  barn.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  long  window  was  opened  from  within, 

*  Mallet. 


WAGER   OF   BATTLE. 


55 


and  the  wrathful  voice  of  Peter  cried  after  me. 
He  could  not  see  my  fleeing  figure  plain  in  the 
twilight  as  I  sped  across  the  open  space  of  grass. 

"  Bang!  "  went  a  gun  behind  me.  I  heard 
the  whistle  of  shot.  Something  stung  me  sharply 
on  the  cheek,  and  I  fell  forward  on  my  face,  giv- 
ing myself  up  for  lost. 

Then,  as  I  lay,  I  hoped  God  would  forgive  me 
for  all  the  lies  I  had  told,  and  for  my  other  sins 
as  well.  I  could  not  mind  what  these  were  par- 
ticularly at  the  moment,  because  the  thing  on 
my  ear  stung  most  confoundedly.  So  I  just 
slumped  them  all  and  took  my  chances. 

I  was  lying  still  on  the  end  of  the  wood,  try- 
ing to  think  on  my  latter  end  and  last  Sabbath's 
sermon,  when  someone  came  and  caught  me  by 
the  collar  of  the  coat. 

"  Get  up,  ye  great  silly,"  commanded  the  voice 
of  the  Hempie;  "ye  are  neither  dead  nor  like 
to  dee." 

And  in  a  moment  I  was  on  my  feet  again  and 
ready  for  anything.  I  looked  once  towards  the 
window,  and  there  I  saw  old  Peter,  the  tearing 
ettercap  that  he  was,  busily  taking  aim  at  me 
with  the  second  barrel. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  flying  again  to  the  de- 
fence of  the  orchard  trees.  But  the  Hempie 
caught  me  determinedly,  reaching  out  a  hand 


56  LADS'   LOVE. 

from  the  dry  ditch  in  which  she  was  keeping  out 
of  her  father's  sight. 

"  Hunker  doon  here,  Alec,  my  man,"  she 
whispered.  "  It's  nocht  but  peas,  ony  way.  I 
drew  the  lead  pellets  this  very  nicht,  as  soon  as 
I  had  milkit  the  kye  and  carried  ben  the  after- 
ings  to  sup  to  my  porridge." 

"  They  hurt  like  lead  draps,"  said  I,  rubbing 
my  cheeks  vigorously. 

"  Oh,  ye  will  never  dee  o'  a  chairge  o'  guid 
saft  garden  peas! "  said  the  daft  lassie,  scorn- 
fully. 

"  Maybe  no,"  retorted  I,  for  my  choler  was 
raised.  "  They  are  a'  vera  weel  in  broth,  but 
if  ye  got  them  plunk  on  the  jaw,  wi'  a  strong 
chairge  o'  powder  ahint  them,  they  might  bring 
the  water  to  your  e'en  as  well  as  mine." 

"  Hoot,  man,  ye  are  a  cooard,"  said  she;  "ye 
mak'  mair  noise  about  a  wheen  peas  than  gin 
ye  had  been  deid." 

"  I  daresay,"  answered  I,  very  shortly,  "  my 
cheek  is  a  deal  sairer  than  if  I  had  been  deid  twen- 
ty year." 

And  I  thought  that  I  had  somewhat  the  best 
of  that,  which  cheered  me  greatly. 

But  I  have  yet  to  arrive  at  the  wale  of  the 
story. 

For  when  I  had  somewhat  come  to  myself,  I 


"  Hoot,  man,  ye  are  a  cooard," 


WAGER   OF   BATTLE.  57 

looked  over  the  hedge  at  a  place  where  I  heard 
a  noise.  And  there,  lying  on  their  stomachs 
on  the  fir  needles,  were  Allan  Herd  and  Matt 
Kerr.  They  were  in  a  fine  ecstasy  of  delight  at 
my  going  up  so  innocently  to  the  window  to 
spy,  and  the  old  reprobate  of  a  Peter  coming 
at  me  right  and  left  with  his  double-barrel. 

Fine  game  they  made,  you  may  be  sure,  prom- 
ising me  that  all  the  parish  should  hear  of  it  on 
the  morrow.  And  right  well  I  knew  that  they 
were  just  the  lads  to  keep  their  word.  However, 
I  chuckled  a  little  too,  for  I  had  bethought  me 
of  a  way  to  be  even  with  them,  and  indeed,  to 
pay  all  my  various  debts  at  one  settlement. 

So  I  wagered  them  a  new  hat  and  a  new  pair 
of  boots  apiece,  to  be  bought  at  Robin  Camp- 
bell's at  the  head  of  the  street  (mentioning  the 
exact  prices,  in  case  of  accidents  or  mistakes) 
that  I  would  go  in  and  stay  an  hour  in  the  "  ben  " 
room  of  Nether  Neuk  that  night,  get  three  kisses 
of  freewill  and  kindliness  from  the  lasses  (the 
Hempie  being  barred  from  the  wager),  and  come 
out  again  on  my  own  feet  and  quite  unpropelled. 

Allan  and  Matt  thought  I  was  only  brag- 
ging, and  so  they  were  very  keen  to  take  me  on. 
And  nothing  loth  was  I,  for  I  had  made  sure  of 
winning.  And  besides,  Robin  Campbell  was  my 
cousin  and  owed  my  father  money,  so  he  would 


58  LADS'   LOVE. 

not  dare  to  charge  me  very  much  siller  for  the 
hat  and  boots  anyway. 

These  two,  Allan  and  Matt,  looked  at  me  with 
a  great  increase  of  respect  and  admiration. 

"  Certes,  ye  are  a  gye  boy! "  said  Matt. 

"A  perfect  reprobate!"  exclaimed  Allan. 

And  that,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  was 
a  good  deal  for  them  to  say  in  my  praise.  For 
they  were  near  half  a  dozen  years-  older  than  I, 
and  had  had  experience  of  this  courting  business 
at  half  the  farm-towns  in  the  countryside. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

WHAT   CAN  A  YOUNG   LASSIE   DO   WI*   AN  AULD   MAN? 

It  was  then  that  I  bethought  me  of  setting 
Matthew  and  Allan  off  on  a  ploy  of  their  own  to 
keep  them  out  of  mischief  while  I  was  attending 
to  my  particular  business.  Allan  was  the  brisker 
lad,  skilled  in  all  rural  arts — a  fine  ploughman, 
though  the  son  of  a  comfortable  farmer,  with 
notions  of  his  own  about  "  hinting,"  and  (as  one 
of  the  judges  said  at  the  Crossmichael  ploughing 
match)  the  "  maist  oreeginal  '  opening '  to  his 
furrows  that  was  ever  seen  in  the  pairish — gin  he 
had  been  a  puir  man's  son  the  like  o'  that  micht 
ha'e  made  his  fortune,  by  exhibiting  his  gift  in 
the  neebourhood  o'  Edinbra  and  Glesca  and  ither 
large  toons,  whaur  they  ken  little  aboot  fine, 
thochtfu'  plooin'." 

It  did  not  strike  the  worthy  man  that  in  these 
benighted  cities  they  care  just  as  little  as  they 
know  about  "  hinting "  or  "  opening,"  or  any 
other  variety  of  ploughcraft. 

59 


60  LADS'   LOVE. 

Matthew  Kerr  was  duller,  but  even  he  did  not 
lack  a  certain  slow  and  placid  humour.  For  he 
played  a  good  second  to  the  livelier  Allan,  being 
ever  willing  and  ready  to  follow;  and  when  once 
fairly  up  to  the  eyes  in  any  mischief,  he  saw  the 
thing  through  with  a  grim  conscientiousness 
which  was  often  very  effective.  But  that  either 
of  them  should  even  themselves  to  Nance  Chrys- 
tie  seemed  like  the  mating  of  the  yoke  ox  with 
the  wild  deer  of  the  hills.  Perhaps  it  was  with 
this  in  my  mind  that  I  sent  them  off  on  this  ploy, 
which  was  exactly  suited  to  their  capacities. 

"  Lads,"  said  I,  "  what  a  spree  wad  it  no'  be, 
if  ye  were  to  gang  doon  to  the  meadow-brig 
and  lift  it  ower  to  the  far  side!  Thae  twa  auld 
donnert  lairdies  will  be  gye  and  weel  laden  by 
the  time  they  rise.  What  say  ye,  lads,  to  giein' 
them  a  bit  dook  in  the  burn  to  cool  their  blood! 
— comin'  cookin'  after  the  lasses  as  if  they  were 
jtwenty  the  piece,  instead  o'  ha'ein'  near  a  hunder 
and  forty  years  atween  them.  It's  their  graves 
in  the  kirkyaird  that  they  should  be  thinkin'  on, 
an  no'  hirsling  up  aside  sic  bonny  lasses  as  we 
ken  o'." 

So  in  this  way  I  got  rid  of  these  two  simple 
loons,  Allan  and  Matt.  For,  as  I  have  said,  I 
had  been  at  the  college  a  year,  and  they  teach 
you  a  heap  there  forbye  Greek.  Indeed  that  was 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DO?  6l 

about  the  only  thing  they  did  not  teach — at 
least,  so  it  was  in  my  time. 

From  where  I  stood  I  could  hear  them  go 
prancing  down  through  the  copsewood  towards 
the  bridge  in  the  meadow;  and  I  laughed  with- 
in me  as  they  went.  For  they  both  thought 
themselves  so  desperate  clever — especially  Allan 
— and  looked  on  me  as  little  better  than  a  laddie. 
But  if  once  I  could  get  quiet  speech  of  Nance 
Chrystie,  I  resolved  to  show  them  whether  or  no 
they  could  afford  to  despise  Alec  of  Drumquhat. 

The  two  lairds  had  stabled  their  horses  over 
at  Pate  Tamson's  public  in  the  village  of  Whinny- 
liggate.  Then  they  had  walked  amicably  to- 
gether to  Nether  Neuk.  It  was  their  purpose, 
upon  leaving  the  house  of  their  love-pilgrimage, 
to  return  by  the  same  path  to  the  village.  It  was 
but  half-a-mile  in  length,  and  it  led  by  pleasant 
flowery  field  edges,  through  the  tall  silver-shakers 
of  the  water-meadows,  till  finally  it  slipped  un- 
obtrusively between  green  hedges  to  the  back 
door  of  the  public-house  of  the  clachan,  where 
their  couple  of  sober  steeds  awaited  them. 

Now  Peter  Chrystie  did  not  allow  late  hours, 
not  even  when  such  peerless  and  approven  suitors 
as  the  laird  of  Sourdubs  and  the  laird  of  Butter- 
hole  came  a-sweethearting  to  Nether  Neuk. 

"  Lads,"  he  would  say,  "  it's  ten  o'  the  clock, 


62  LADS'   LOVE. 

and  gin  it  is  your  habit  to  snore  in  your  beds 
till  the  sun  makes  it  ower  warm  to  lie  langer, 
it  is  no'  the  custom  aboot  this  house  o'  Nether 
Neuk.  There's  Nance,  noo,  she  canna  lie  muckle 
past  four  o'  the  clock.  Daft  helicat  lass  that 
she  is,  she  likes  a'  mainner  o'  wark  pitten  by 
in  the  prime  o'  the  morn.  Fegs,  I  heard  her 
wi'  Tam  Suitor,  the  plooman,  the  ither  day.  It's 
a  grand  bar,  so  I  maun  tell  ye."  ("  Great  lies!  " 
remarked  Nance  unfilially,  beneath  her  breath, 
to  Grace).  "  Oh,  a  fine  mistress  o'  a  hoose  will 
our  Nance  mak'.  Tak'  a  pairtin'  glass,  lads;  it's 
fine  stuff,  undutied  every  drap,  and  that  strong 
and  new  it  wad  eat  through  iron  plates.  Weel, 
I  was  tellin'  ye  aboot  Nance  there — a  brisk 
hizzy!  She  gangs  up  to  the  door  o'  Tam  Suitor's 
loft. 

" '  Are  ye  up,  Tam? '  says  Nance,  gye  and 
snell. 

"  *  Na','  answers  Tam  dourly,  frae  between  the 
blankets. 

"  '  Are  ye  weel  this  mornin',  Tam?  '  says  the 
lass,  kenning  bravely  that  he  was. 

'  Aye/  says  Tam,  very  unwillingly,  but  not 
knowing  what  else  to  say,  silly  cuif. 

"  '  TJien  rise ! '    says  she.     '  For  I  like  a'  the 
beds  made  betimes  in  the  mornin'.' ' 

'*  Haith,  very  weel  laid  on,  my  lass!"  cried 


WHAT  CAN   A  YOUNG  LASSIE   DO?  63 

the  amorous  laird  of  Butterhole,  who  was  now 
on  his  feet,  ready  for  departure. 

"See  their  lairdships  to  the  door,  lasses!" 
commanded  Peter  sternly.  "  Guid-nicht  to  ye, 
Sourdubs.  Guid-nicht,  Butterhole.  Haste  ye 
back  again,  and  mind  and  send  me  ower  that 
tin  o'  sheep-dip  ye  borrowed  frae  me  at  the  last 
clippin'!" 

Nance  and  Grace  vanished  before  their  heavy- 
footed  wooers  down  the  darksome  passage  to 
the  kitchen,  and  immediately  from  about  the 
red  ashes  of  the  fireplace  Meg  Coupland  and 
Titty  Muirhead  arose,  and  with  shawls  belong- 
ing to  their  young  mistresses  over  their  heads, 
they  slipped  out  to  represent  the  two  elder  game- 
some Graces  of  Nether  Neuk. 

The  laird  of  Butterhole  was  in  the  mood  for 
amorous  confidences.  He  was  still  stumblingly 
feeling  his  way  out  of  the  ben  room  when  Meg 
Coupland  extinguished  the  candle  in  the  hall. 
Butterhole  saw  the  figure  of  Nance  (as  he 
thought)  waiting  for  him  in  the  dim  doorway. 
Sourdubs  was  still  wrangling  with  his  host  about 
the  tin  of  sheep-dip. 

It  was  Butterhole's  hour.  Never  had  fortune 
and  the  tricksome  Nance  proved  so  unexpectedly 
kind  to  him.  He  slipped  his  arm  about  the  waist 
of  the  maiden  on  the  doorstep. 


64  LADS'  LOVE. 

"  Ye  are  an  awesome  nice  lass,"  he  said.  "  I 
like  ye  maist  as  weel's  mysel' !  " 

"  Ye  think  sae?  "  shyly  came  from  under  the 
shawl,  in  tones  which  might  either  indicate  the 
embarrassment  of  extreme  feeling  or  such  mirth 
as  hardly  brooked  suppression. 

"  Aye,  lass,  ye  ken  weel  that  I  think  sae;  a' 
the  world  kens  that,"  said  Butterhole.  "  I  aye 
said  that  there  was  never  a  lass  to  match  ye  for 
twenty  miles  roond." 

"  Is  that  a'  ye  ha'e  to  say?  "  came  softly  from 
beneath  the  shawl.  Meg  Coupland  was  not  new 
to  the  game  of  making  reluctant  love  pin  itself 
down  to  definite  intention. 

Butterhole  was  staggered  for  a  moment,  but 
he  faced  the  situation  on  the  whole  very  gal- 
lantly. 

"  Weel,  lass,"  he  said,  "  I  was  hardly  that  far 
on.  But  since  ye  are  sae  fond  o'  me,  I  wull  speer 
ye.  Wull  ye  hae  me,  lass?  " 

"Aye,  that  wull  I!"  responded  Meg,  in  her 
natural  voice,  dropping  the  shawl  and  looking 
up  at  him  with  a  smile  which  a  circumnavigator 
would  have  had  difficulty  in  tracing  round 
her  broad  but  expressive  features  —  so  per- 
vasive it  was,  and,  as  one  might  say,  circum- 
ferential. "  Aye,  that  I  will,  laird  Butterhole, 
and  wi'  pleasure.  Ye  can  caa'  in  an'  tell  my 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG   LASSIE  DO?  65 

mither  the  morn's  mornin'  when  ye  are  gaun 
by." 

"  What  the  de'il — Meg  Coupland,  as  I'm  a 
leevin'  sinner!"  cried  the  astonished  laird.  "I  ha'e 
speered  my  ain  cotman's  dochter.  Lord,  1  maun 
be  desperate  fu'  surely.  It's  time  I  was  hame." 

And  Butterhole  stumbled  out  of  the  front 
door  of  the  farm  of  Nether  Neuk,  followed  by  his 
friend  and  crony,  who  had  at  last  settled  the  af- 
fair of  the  sheep-dip  with  his  host  upon  mutual 
and  amicable  terms.  Butterhole  was  pursued  by 
the  mocking  scorns  of  Meg  Coupland  as  he  went 
down  the  loaning. 

"  Mind  ye  look  in  to  see  my  mither  the  morn, 
and  dinna  forget  I  ha'e  three  witnesses  that  a' 
heard  ye  speer  me,"  cried  Meg,  with  jubilation  in 
her  tone. 

"  Guid-nicht,  laird!  "  cried  Nance,  coming  out 
of  the  kitchen,  accompanied  by  Grace.  "  I  wish 
you  joy.  It  was  very  bravely  dune,  an'  Meg  will 
mak'  ye  a  fine  heartsome  wife." 

"  De'il  tak'  ye,  yin  and  a' — deceitfu'  besoms 
that  ye  are!  "  retorted  the  Bonnet  Laird.  "  Come 
on,  Sourdubs.  It  will  be  a'  ower  the  pairish  the 
morn  that  I  gaed  courtin'  Nance  Chrystie  o' 
Nether  Neuk,  and  gat  that  fu'  that  I  speered  ma 
ain  cottar's  lass  instead!  I'll  never  dare  face 
Cairn  Edward  market  on  Monday!  " 


66  LADS'   LOVE. 

"•Hoot,  man,  baud  your  tongue,"  said  Sour- 
dubs.  "  I'm  thinkin'  ye  are  maybe  weel  won  aff. 
For  gin  it  had  been  Nance,  the  wild  madam  that 
she  is,  ye  wad  ha'e  had  to  tak'  her — aye,  and  put 
up  wi'  her.  Peter  wad  ha'e  seen  to  that.  But 
as  it  is,  ye  can  gi'e  that  daft  besom  o'  a  byre  lass 
a  pound  note  to  let  ye  aff." 

"A  pound  note!"  cried  Butterhole,  utterly 
aghast.  "  Surely  a  croun  wad  do!  " 

"  Ye  set  yoursel'  at  a  very  cheap  price,  laird," 
said  his  friend.  "  D'ye  think  a  lass  wi'  a  spoken 
promise  and  three  witnesses  will  gi'e  up  be- 
ing lady  o'  Butterhole  for  less  than  a  pound 
note?  " 

"  Oh,  wae's  me!  "  wailed  Butterhole.  "  This 
comes  o'  the  cursed  drink.  I'll  sign  the  morn. 
A  pound — a  paper  pound  note!  I'll  never  get 
the  better  o't.  I  wish  I  had  minded  me  on  what 
I  learned  at  my  mither's  knee.  Mony  is  the  time 
that  she  lickit  me  soundly  for  jingling  the  bools 
in  my  pouch,  instead  o'  attendin'  to  her  instruc- 
tions, aboot  religion  and  hoo  to  tak'  care  o'  my 
siller.  But  I  see  my  mistak'  noo,  when  it  is  ower 
late.  ...  A  pound  note — a  hale  bonny  pound 
note,  black  and  crunkly  and  dirty " 

And  the  very  imagination  of  his  loss  proved 
too  much  for  the  laird  of  Butterhole.  He  wept 
to  think  how  he  had  neglected  his  parent's  exer- 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG   LASSIE   DO?  6/ 

tions  for  his  edification,  and  how  bitterly  he  had 
been  punished. 

At  that  moment  the  two  cronies  reached  the 
bridge. 

"  Gang  you  first,  Butterhole,"  said  Sourdubs. 
"  I  canna  see  the  brig.  Ye  ken  the  road  better." 

A  splash  followed,  and  then  on  the  back  of 
that  a  loud  clap  of  swearing. 

"  What's  wrang  noo,  laird?  "  cried  Sourdubs. 
"  What  ha'e  ye  gotten  there.  No'  anither  lass 
surely?  " 

"  Gin  I  am  no  mista'en,  it's  guid  moss  water," 
answered  Butterhole.  "  But,  faith,  I  was  mis- 
ta'en afore  aboot  the  lass,  and  this  may  be  but 
lang  meadow  grass  after  a'.  Gi'e  me  your  hand, 
Sourdubs,  and  I'll  guide  ye  ower  the  brig." 

Sourdubs  reached  a  careful  and  cautious  arm 
down  through  the  darkness,  which  Butterhole 
firmly  grasped. 

"  Noo  tak'  a  fine  lang  step  and  ye'll  be  a' 
richt,"  said  the  pilot. 

Sourdubs  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  landed  fair 
in  the  middle  of  the  burn  beside  his  friend. 

"  Noo,  Sourdubs,  ye'll  be  in  a  position  to  ken 
whether  this  is  moss  water  or  meadow  hay,"  said 
Butterhole,  with  bitter  sarcasm  in  his  tone. 

Speechless  with  anger  at  the  trick,  Sourdubs 
grasped  his  deceiver  by  the  throat,  and  the  pair 


68  LADS'   LOVE. 

went  to  the  bottom  of  the  lane  in  their  fury. 
They  might  both  of  them  have  been  drowned, 
had  not  Matt  and  Allan  fished  them  out  and 
flung  them  on  the  farther  bank,  dripping  like  wet 
rags — yet  ever  continuing  to  vow  the  direst 
vengeance,  and  trying  once  more  to  grapple  each 
other.  Then  Allan  sat  down  to  watch  them, 
having  quietly  replaced  the  bridge,  while  Matt 
went  to  the  village  inn  to  bring  their  horses. 
Upon  which,  when  they  arrived,  they  mounted, 
and  departed  their  several  ways,  pursuing  each 
other  as  far  as  their  voices  would  carry  with  de- 
nunciations and  recriminations,  together  with 
direst  threats  of  the  pains  and  penalties  of  the 
law. 

When  they  were  quite  gone  and  their  angry 
voices  had  fallen  into  silence,  Allan  and  Matt 
gripped  hands  in  the  darkness  and  clapped  each 
other's  backs. 

"  We  are  ha'ein'  a  grand  nicht,  Allan!  "  said 
Matt. 

They  were.    But  I  was  having  a  better. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ALL'S  FAIR  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR. 

And  this  was  the  way  of  it. 

From  my  post  at  the  window  I  heard  Peter 
Chrystie  moving  here  and  there  about  the  house, 
locking  doors  and  barring  windows — now  shout- 
ing directions  to  the  servants,  now  rating  Meg 
Coupland  for  putting  too  many  peats  on  the 
kitchen  fire — "  wasterfu'  hizzie,  leavin'  as  mony 
burnin'  there  as  wad  cook  a  dinner  for  twenty 
harvesters";  anon  crying  directions  to  Nance 
and  Grace,  and  finally,  after  he  had  retired  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  opening  his  bedroom  door  to 
cry  down  to  Nance  to  bring  him  his  gun  and 
powder-flask. 

Then  after  a  little  Peter's  light  went  out,  and 
presumably  the  elder  of  the  kirk  gave  himself  up 
to  his  devotions.  For  no  sound  was  heard,  where 
I  stood  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the  yard  dyke, 
save  the  horses  rattling  their  halters  restlessly  in 

the  stables.    A  collie  came  and  sniffed  about  my 

69 


70  LADS'   LOVE. 

legs.  But  it  was  Nance's  dog  Bawty,  and  Bawty 
knew  me.  He  had  certainly  plenty  of  chances  of 
acquaintanceship.  Besides  which  the  three  lasses 
had  carefully  trained  the  Nether  Neuk  dogs  to 
refrain  from  barking  after  dark,  whoever  should 
come  about  the  premises. 

After  the  master's  retirement  the  house  of 
Nether  Neuk  seemed  to  be  wholly  dark  from 
chimney-top  to  front  doorstep.  But  to  the  ex- 
perienced eye  a  faint  streak  of  light  showed  down 
the  middle  of  the  factor's  wife's  French  window. 
This  apprised  the  cognizant  that  the  curtains 
were  drawn  in  that  room  and  that  all  the  inhab- 
itants of  Nether  Neuk  were  not  so  sound  asleep 
as  might  be  supposed  from  a  cursory  inspection 
of  the  premises. 

Presently  I  heard  a  faint  click.  The  streak 
of  light  brightened,  flashed  a  moment,  and  dis- 
appeared, keen  as  a  knife-blade  fresh  from  the 
cutler.  I  knew  that  the  Hempie  had  undone  the 
hasp  of  the  lock,  and  that  the  French  window  of 
Nether  Neuk  was  ready  to  receive  company. 

Lightly  I  vaulted  over  the  dyke,  without  dis- 
turbing a  single  stone  (for  in  those  days  I  was 
very  quick  on  my  feet),  and  stole  like  a  shadow 
to  the  unlicensed  entrance.  As  I  had  supposed, 
it  opened  at  a  touch  and  I  stepped  within,  draw- 
ing the  curtains  close  behind  me. 


"  W hat  are  you  doing  there,  Alec?" 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  AND  WAR.  yl 

The  three  lasses  were  sitting  gossiping  de- 
mure as  kittens  about  the  fireplace,  as  if  it  were 
the  commonest  thing  for  them  to  be  thus  em- 
ployed on  the  further  side  of  ten  o'clock. 

"  Goodness  me,"  said  Nance,  "  what  are  you 
doing  there,  Alec?  Laddies  like  you  should  be 
in  their  beds  hours  and  hours  since." 

"  He's  corned  to  get  you  to  help  him  wi'  his 
lessons  for  the  college,  Nance!  "  said  the  Hempie. 

"  Ahint  the  orchard-dyke — wi'  you  for  a  tu- 
tor, mair  like,"  retorted  Nance. 

"  Wheest !  "  said  Grace,  looking  up  reprov- 
ingly from  her  knitting.  "  This  is  no  the  sort  o' 
talk  afore  bairns  like  Alec  and  the  Hempie." 

Yet  I  was  older  than  any  of  them. 

"  Where's  Allan  and  Matt?  "  said  Nance,  after 
a  pause,  during  which,  as  was  my  duty,  I  pulled 
a  chair  up  close  to  the  Hempie,  who  thereupon 
promptly  hitched  away  from  me  with  marked 
scorn.  This  also  was  strictly  according  to  rule. 

"  Make  yoursel'  at  hame,  Nance,"  said  the 
Hempie,  turning  up  her  nose.  "  See  Alec,  how 
friendly  he  is!  He  makes  as  free  wi'  the  Nether 
Neuk  chairs  as  if  they  were  his  ain." 

"  Aye,  Hempie,  he  is  as  greatly  in  want  o' 
mainners  as  he  is  o'  mense.  But  what's  come  o' 
the  ither  lads  I  asked  ye  aboot? "  continued 
Nance. 


72  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  They  were  feared  to  come  near  for  the  mas- 
ter's gun.  So  they  gaed  awa'  doon  the  burn- 
side  to  convoy  the  twa  lairds  to  the  clachan," 
said  I. 

Nance  and  Grace  looked  up  quickly. 

"Are  ye  speakin'  the  truth,  callant?"  they 
cried  with  one  voice. 

Now  they  had  no  business  to  call  me  "  cal- 
lant," for  I  was  as  old  as  Nance  herself  and  had 
much  more  experience,  having  been,  as  I  men- 
tioned before,  a  year  at  the  College  of  Edinburgh. 
So  when  I  answered  them,  I  own  that  it  was 
somewhat  tartly. 

"  I  telled  ye  that  they  were  feared,  and  they 
are  feared.  Mair  than  that,  I  dinna  think  they 
cared  muckle  aboot  comin'.  I  heard  Allan  say 
that  there  was  just  time  to  rin  up  to  Knowetap 
to  see  the  lasses  there  before  they  bedded." 

"  That's  a  great  lee,  at  ony  rate!  "  said  Nance. 

Which  it  was. 

Nance  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  letting 
a  broad  line  of  light  flow  out  over  the  green  space 
in  front,  scale  the  garden  wall,  and  fade  into  dark- 
ness across  the  home  park. 

"  Come  back  frae  that,  Nance,"  cried  the 
practical  Grace:  "  mind  what  happened  the  last 
time  my  faither  saw  a  licht  doon  here  after  he 
had  gane  to  his  bed!  " 


ALL'S   FAIR   IN   LOVE  AND  WAR.  73 

For  the  Nether  Neuk  lasses  had  had  more 
adventures  in  their  time  than  were  written  down 
in  the  book  of  the  family  chronicles. 

Nance  swept  the  curtains  behind  her  indig- 
nantly and  tripped  down  the  two  steps  which 
led  into  the  garden.  She  was  obviously  annoyed 
at  Allan's  desertion,  and  ready  for  any  reprisal 
which  would  pay  him  back. 

Presently  she  came  in  again  with  a  disap- 
pointed look  and  began  to  roll  up  her  knitting. 
She  looked  mightily  winsome  as  she  stood  there 
with  the  candle-light  on  her  face  and  the  little 
curls  about  her  head  all  bright  and  fretful  with 
the  light  shining  through  them.  I  did  not  won- 
der at  Allan,  nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  at  all 
the  other  men  in  the  parish.  Yet  I  knew  very 
well  that  Nance  Chrystie  would  not  look  at  me 
— that  I  was  but  a  lad — when  she  could  get  her 
pick  of  a  score  of  grown  men  with  beards  to  their 
faces  as  rough  as  a  "  heather  cowe."  * 

"  It's  time  ye  were  tripping  it  over  the  muir 
to  Drumquhat,  my  man.  Your  faither  will  be 
waiting  up  for  you  wi'  an  awesome  biggie  stick," 
said  Nance  pointedly.  She  seemed  somehow  to 
have  lost  interest  in  sitting  up  any  longer.  Yet 
when  I  came,  she  and  Grace  had  evidently  set- 

*  The  besom  for  sweeping  the  ice  in  the  game  of  curling. 


74 


LADS'   LOVE. 


tied  themselves  for  a  long  forenight  of  talk  and 
work.  They  did  not  seem  so  set  on  it  now. 

It  was  high  time  for  me  to  develop  my  bat- 
teries. 

"  I'm  no  gaun  to  steer  a  fit,"  said  I;  "no  an 
inch  frae  this  chair  the  nicht  will  I  move,  with- 
out ye  come — a'  the  three  o'  ye,  yin  after  anither 
— and  gin  me  a  kiss  o'  your  ain  free  wulls." 

A  bombshell  could  hardly  have  caused  more 
astonishment.  Such  an  unblushingly  impudent 
request  had  never  been  made  in  Nether  Neuk 
since  it  was  a  farm-town.  This  was  exactly  the 
effect  I  intended  to  produce.  At  first  the  lasses 
did  nothing  but  stare  at  me  as  if  I  had  suddenly 
gone  mad. 

At  last  Nance  found  a  tongue.  She  was  gen- 
erally first  as  well  as  last  at  everything. 

"  Get  oot  o'  this  hoose,  ye  young  vagabond  " 
she  cried.  "  You  to  speak  aboot  kissin'  that 
hasna  left  the  schule  yet.  It's  a  baby's  feedin' 
bottle  ye  want  and  some  lime-water  amang  the 
milk  to  keep  doon  the  hiccups.  Oot  o'  that 
window  wi'  ye,  and  gi'e  us  nae  mair  o'  your 
brazen-facedness.  Certes,  they  ha'e  learned  ye 
a  bonny  lesson  of  assurance  in  Edinburgh.  If 
this  be 'what  your  faither  pays  awa*  his  hard- 
earned  siller  for,  Saunders  McQuhirr's  a  sair  ill- 
used  man! " 


ALL'S   FAIR    IN   LOVE   AND   WAR. 


75 


I  sat  still,  leaning  far  back  in  my  chair. 

"  The  nicht's  young  yet.  It's  six  hours  till 
rising  time,  and  I  can  easily  bide  that  time," 
said  I. 

"  Gracie,  Hempie,"  cried  Nance,  "  get  haud 
o'  him.  He's  supple,  but  he's  no  strong.  The 
three  o'  us  can  manage  him  easy.  Round  aboot 
the  table  and  at  him!  " 

Grace  rose  obediently  at  Nance's  word,  and 
I'm  not  denying  that  they  might  have  managed 
the  thing,  had  I  let  them  try.  For  they  had 
been  used  to  hill-roads  and  indoor  farm  work 
all  the  days  of  them.  But  I  had  thought  out 
all  the  chances,  and  had  not  come  there  to 
be  so  easily  trapped  by  Nance  Chrystie.  Be- 
sides, I  knew  that  the  Hempie  was  too  deep  in 
the  plot  to  assist  them  when  it  came  to  the 
pinch. 

"  Now,  Nance,"  said  I  calmly,  bending  my 
fingers  together  in  a  persuasively  determined 
manner,  as  I  had  seen  Professor  Mailsetter  do 
when  there  was  a  disturbance  in  the  back  benches 
(and  which  I  had  much  admired),  "  bide  where 
ye  are,  and  sit  your  ways  down.  For  gin  ye 
so  muckle  as  lay  a  hand  on  me,  unless  it  be  to 
tak'  me  aboot  the  neck  to  gi'e  me  the  kiss  I  was 
speakin'  aboot,  I'll  raise  a  cry  that  will  bring 
your  faither  oot  o'  his  bed  like  a  shot.  I'm  nane 


76 


LADS'   LOVE. 


feared  o'  him  nor  his  gun — like  Allan  and  Mat- 
thew, mind  you." 

The  lassies  stopped  at  opposite  ends  of  the 
table,  and  had  I  not  been  so  set  on  my  plot, 
I  declare  I  could  have  found  it  in  my  heart  to 
be  sorry  for  them.  For  they  had  been  so  accus- 
tomed all  their  lives  to  hood-winking  men  and 
playing  pranks  on  them — even  as  they  had  done 
that  night  to  the  laird  of  Butterhole — that  it  was 
fair  gall  and  worm-wood  to  them  to  be  caught 
by  a  birkie  laddie;  for  so  I  knew  they  considered 
me,  though  of  the  same  age  as  themselves.  But 
I  was  determined  to  show  them  another  way  of 
it.  I  was  not  to  be  despised;  and  besides,  if  they 
had  the  good  taste  to  know  a  lad  when  they  saw 
him,  they  might  see  that  I  was  at  least  as  good 
to  kiss  as  either  Allan  Herd  or  Matt  Kerr.  Or 
if  they  did  not  know  this  last,  the  Hempie  could 
have  told  them.  Anyway,  I  had  said  it  and 
wagered  it,  and  I  was  not  going  to  go  back  on 
my  plighted  word  at  this  time  of  day — or  rather, 
by  the  hands  of  the  clock,  at  this  time  of  night. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  MAKE  LOVE  IN  EARNEST. 

The  lasses  stood  transfixed,  and  looked  help- 
lessly at  one  another. 

"  He's  awesome  determined.  Ye  dinna  ken. 
'Deed  ye  had  better  just  do  it  and  let  him  gang 
his  ways,"  said  the  Hempie.  "  It's  no'  that  very 
horrid,  if  yince  ye  ha'e  made  up  your  mind  to  it." 

And  she  was  coming  about  the  table  to  show 
her  sisters  the  way,  for  the  Hempie  cared  not 
a  doit  about  the  matter  one  way  or  the  other. 
She  would  just  as  soon  have  kissed  her  father. 

"  Come  back  oot  o'  that,  Hempie,"  cried 
Nance,  forgetting  about  the  necessity  for  quiet; 
"  gin  a  sister  o'  mine  were  to  demean  hersel'  to 
kiss  a  thing  like  that  at  the  point  o'  the  bayonet 
—I  wad " 

And  the  angry  Nance  stood  breathless  and 
speechless  with  indignation — as  it  were,  reaching 
vainly  into  the  empty  air  for  a  conclusion  dire 
enough  to  suit  her  vengeance. 

77 


78  LADS'   LOVE. 

The  Hempie  pouted,  and  stood  balancing  her- 
self on  one  foot. 

"  It's  a  great  to-do  about  nocht  ava'.  See 
here,  Alec,"  she  said,  turning  to  me,  "  I'll  gie 
ye  three  mysel'  to  let  Grace  and  Nance  aff,  and 
to  let  us  a'  get  to  our  beds." 

But  I  had  had  more  than  three  from  that 
mint  already,  and  it  was  not  such-like  I  now 
coveted,  the  Hempie  being  too  young  to  have 
proper  feelings  about  so  important  a  matter. 
Besides,  there  was  the  wager  and  the  victory  over 
Allan  and  Matt,  who  were  doubtless  cooling  their 
heels  outside,  and  thinking  themselves  so  mighty 
clever  because  they  had  ducked  the  two  bonnet- 
lairds  in  the  burn,  which  indeed  they  would  never 
have  thought  of  but  for  me. 

So  I  shook  my  head. 

"  No,  Hempie.  I  wad  like  it  weel — to  obleege 
ye,"  said  I.  "  But  it's  this  way.  It's  no'  that 
I  care  aboot  the  thing  personally,  as  one  might 
say.  It's  a  vow  that  I  hae  ta'en,  and  I  canna 
gang  back  on  my  word.  I  couldna  gang  afore 
the  minister  in  the  kirk  on  Sabbath  wi'  a  clear 
conscience,  if  I  were  to  break  my  word  aboot 
a  thing  like  that.  It's  what  I  hae  said,  neither 
mair  nor  less.  Or  I  dinna  steer  out  o'  this  chair 
till  mornin'!" 

"  Aweel,"  said  Nance,  a  new  thought  striking 


I   MAKE   LOVE   IN    EARNEST. 


79 


her,  "  e'en  let  us  gang  to  our  beds  and  leave 
him  here  to  himsel';  muckle  good  that  will  do 
to  him,  gin  my  faither  catches  him." 

But  I  snatched  the  lamp  and  set  it  behind 
me. 

"  A'  richt,  lasses,  gin  ye  like  to  leave  the  licht 
burnin'  and  the  curtain  open,  it's  a'  the  same 
to  me.  I'm  no'  feared." 

And  I  swept  the  curtain  of  the  long  window 
back  with  my  arm.  The  light  lay  in  a  broad 
bar  across  the  fields,  plain  to  be  seen  from  Peter 
Chrystie's  window.  And  Peter,  as  I  well  knew, 
did  not  pull  down  his  bedroom  blind. 

Instantly  Nance  sprang  at  the  curtain, 
snatched  it  out  of  my  hand,  and  pulled  it  back 
again  so  that  no  light  escaped. 

Then  she  stood  over  me  as  I  sat  at  ease — 
and  the  anger  fair  sparked  and  blazed  from  her 
dark,  indignant  eyes.  She  clenched  her  hands 
and  held  them  stiff  at  her  sides.  Then  she  bent 
her  head  a  little  forward  and  looked  at  me,  fight- 
ing for  some  adequate  utterance.  Oh,  but  she 
was  splendid  to  look  at!  It  was  not  the  first 
time  I  had  ever  thought  her  the  bonniest  lass 
it  ever  was  my  lot  to  see. 

"  Oh,  ye  gorb,  ye  worm,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice  of  deadly  anger,  "  ye  fathom  o'  pump- 
water  on  end,  I  wish  I  were  a  man  for  but  five 


8o  LADS'  LOVE. 

minutes  to  throw  ye  head-foremost  oot  o'  the 
window — comin'  here  to  fear  three  bits  o'  lasses. 
Ye  may  weel  be  prood  o'  yoursel',  ye  feckless 
scullion.  Gi'e  the  like  o'  you  a  kiss! — faith  no, 
though  you  waited  till  the  Day  of  Judgment,  and 
there  wasna  a  man  nearer  than  the  stars  that 
shine  midway  the  lift  o'  heaven!  " 

But  I  sat  tight  and  answered  no  word,  know- 
ing well  that  she  would  come  in  of  that  humour 
by-and-by.  I  was  in  no  hurry,  for  I  was  quite 
sure  of  getting  up  into  our  gable  loft  before  the 
time  of  my  father's  rising. 

So  I  just  leaned  a  little  farther  back  in  my 
chair  and  looked  at  her — and  faith,  but  she  was 
bonny  far  beyond  words. 

"  Nance,"  said  I,  "  ye  should  aye  be  raised  and 
angry.  It  gars  your  e'en  shine  like  stars  on  the 
water  on  a  summer's  nicht,  dark  and  bricht  at 
once — cauld  as  the  ice-blink  oot  o'  the  north, 
and  yet  warm  as  a  fire  in  the  ingle-nuik  burn- 
ing for  the  first  hame-coming  o'  newly-married 
folk." 

"  Humph.  Set  her  up  indeed — a'  that  aboot 
oor  Nance's  e'en.  Ye  never  said  the  like  to  me!  " 
cried  the  Hempie  indignantly.  "  Ye  can  get 
Nance  to  open  the  snib  o'  the  window  to  ye  the 
next  time." 

And  the  Hempie,  who  up  till  now  had  been 


I   MAKE   LOVE   IN   EARNEST.  gi 

taking  my  part  in  all  good  comradeship,  tossed 
her  head  and  turned  away  in  a  huff. 

But  though  Nance  did  not  abandon  her  atti- 
tude of  anger,  somehow  the  pith  went  out  of  it  at 
my  words,  for  I  think  that  deep  down  she  had 
always  rather  liked  me.  Her  hands  relaxed;  she 
leaned  back  against  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
looked  at  me  in  a  new  way — the  way  a  woman 
looks  at  a  man  whose  heart  is  in  her  hands. 

"  But,"  I  went  on  yet  more  softly,  looking  at 
her  critically  as  one  might  at  a  bonny  picture, 
"  I  am  no  juist  so  sure  that  I  dinna  like  ye  even 
better  when  there  comes  a  saft  and  kindly  lowe 
o'  licht  into  your  e'e.  Aye,  there  it  is — keep  it 
like  that,  lass.  It  gangs  richt  to  my  heart,  like 
the  smell  o'  hawthorn  on  a  sweetheartin'  gloam- 
in' " 

"  Havers!  "  cried  Nance,  "  I  never  listened  to 
sic  nonsense  in  a'  my  life." 

But  nevertheless  she  went  smiling  about  the 
room,  and  then  sat  down  with  her  elbows  on  the 
table  and  her  chin  on  her  joined  hands,  daring 
me  with  her  eyes  to  continue.  I  resolved  to  show 
them  all  what  a  college  education  could  do.  Be- 
sides, as  I  have  said,  she  was  just  terrible  bonny, 
and  I  aye  liked  her,  though  I  never  had  a  chance 
to  tell  her  so  before. 

Grace  yawned  and  pretended  to  go  to  sleep 


82  LADS'   LOVE. 

over  her  work — and  the  Hempie  turned  her  back 
on  me  and  undisguisedly  sulked;  and  that  pleased 
me  best  of  all.  For  the  Hempie  was  just  a  young 
ignorant  lassie,  and  as  fond  of  her  dog  Towser 
as  of  me — fonder  indeed. 

"  But  where  learned  ye  that  mainner  o'  speak- 
in'?"  said  Nance.  "  I  declare  I  never  heard  the 
like  o'  it  before — never  in  a'  my  life " 

And  I  could  see  her  turning  over  in  her  mind 
the  leaves  of  the  many-paged  book  of  her  love- 
experience. 

"  Gin  that's  the  gait  ye  talk  to  the  Hempie," 
she  said,  "  I  dinna  wonder  that  she  bides  oot  so 
late.  I  am  vexed  that  I  bade  her  come  in  the 
nicht." 

"  Humph,"  said  the  Hempie  over  her  shoul- 
der, contemptuously,  "  and  thank  ye  for  naething 
— ye  are  mighty  condescending,  Nance  Chrystie. 
It's  no'  to  me  that  he  would  dare  to  talk  sic-like 
sugary  balderdash.  Na,  faith,  he  kens  better.  I 
wad  gi'e  him  a  sound  daud  i'  the  lug." 

And  so  she  would  have  done,  as  fast  as  look 
at  it. 

"  But  ye  see,  Hempie,"  said  I,  playing  with 
her  boyish  ill-humour,  "  it  a'  depends.  Nae  man 
can  cut  withoot  the  claith.  Ye  canna  draw  a 
bonny  picture  withoot  a  bonny  subject.  So  at 
least  the  painter  lads  in  Edinburgh  tell  me.  And 


I    MAKE    LOVE    IN   EARNEST.  83 

though  ye  are  a  nice  lass,  Hempie,  and  will  be 
bonnier  when  your  legs  ha'e  settled  how  far  they 
are  gaun  to  grow  through  the  skirts  o'  your  pet- 
ticoats, ye  maunna  think  that  ye  can  compare  wi' 
the  sister  o'  ye." 

The  Hempie  rose  in  great  disdain. 

"  Sister  or  no'  sister — ye  can  e'en  sit  up  by 
yoursel'  till  mornin'.  I'll  no  bide  here  a  minute 
langer,  just  to  listen  to  our  Nance  being  cried 
up  for  the  wonder  o'  the  world." 

And  so,  with  her  head  erect,  she  marched  out 
of  the  door,  and  we  could  hear  her  tramp  up  the 
stairs,  without  attempting  to  soften  her  foot- 
steps, even  when  she  passed  her  father's  chamber. 

Grace  was  now  really  and  undisguisedly  sleep- 
ing, without  subterfuge  or  deception.  But  Nance 
sat  opposite,  watching  me  without  ever  looking 
away,  courting  me  to  go  on  with  her  shining, 
beautiful  eyes.  Yet  I  think  it  was  not  vanity, 
but  the  savour  of  a  new  experience  that  was*  so 
sweet  to  her.  Also  maybe  she  liked  me  more 
than  she  had  let  on  to  herself.  Such  things  hap- 
pen among  lasses  that  are  much  made  of. 

"  Nance,"  said  I,  after  a  while,  "  mind  ye, 
though  I  cam'  on  a  daft-like  errand  and  made  you 
fell  angry  at  me,  it  wasna'  for  that  I  ventured 
here  this  nicht,  but  because  I  couldna'  otherwise 
get  speech  o'  ye.  Nance,  ye  are  far  ower  bonny 

7 


84  LADS'   LOVE. 

to  waste  your  youth  on  a  parcel  o'  ignorant 
plough-lads  and  country  buckies,  that  ken  nocht 
but  the  way  the  grape  gangs  into  the  tatie-furrow 
or  the  road  the  horn-spune  tak's  to  their  mouths. 
I  am  young,  but  I  ha'e  been  in  great  cities  and 
seen  lasses  that  were  counted  bonny — yet  as  I 
live,  never  a  yin  was  worthy  to  be  your  brides- 
maid, no  yin  amang  them  a'  fit  to  stand  in  satin 
and  pearlins  beside  Nance  Chrystie  in  a  gown  o' 
blue  drugget." 

"  Siccan  nonsense!  "  said  she  softly — never 
blinking  or  taking  away  her  head,  but  just  a  pulse 
on  her  white  neck  beating  slow,  as  if  she  was 
drinking  a  sweet  beverage  and  wanted  to  make  it 
last  the  longer.  And  it  was  then,  I  think,  that 
some  of  the  liking  for  me,  that  had  long  been 
underneath,  began  to  win  its  way  uppermost. 

"  True  it  is,  Nance,"  said  I;  "  and  mind  ye,  I 
am  no'  talkin'  this  gate  to  every  lass  I  meet.  You 
can  ask  the  Hempie  if  ever  I  spake  this  way  to 
her." 

"  The  Hempie  is  but  a  bairn,"  said  Nance 
decisively.  "  But  some  lass  in  Edinburgh — ye 
maun  ha'e  said  a'  that  often  before,  to  get  it  so 
ready  on  your  tongue,  so  like  a  buik  that  folk 
write  aboot  love." 

"  Na,  na,  lass,"  I  answered  her,  "  the  love  o' 
my  heart  has  been  gatherin'  like  water  in  a  dam 


I    MAKE   LOVE    IN   EARNEST.  85 

— summer  rain  and  Lammas  flood  filling  it  little 
by  little.  Nance,  my  lass,  it  has  only  overflowed 
this  nicht.  The  mouth  is  just  speakin'  oot  o'  the 
fulness  o'  the  heart.  Ye  think  I'm  only  a  lad, 
Nance — but  I'm  no  gaun  to  bide  here  in  the 
sheuch  o'  life  a'  my  days.  I'm  gaun  to  be  some- 
thing forby  a  driver  o'  '  nowt '  and  a  fodderer  o' 
horses." 

At  this  moment  Grace  awaked  with  a  start, 
and  slowly  looked  all  about  her  with  a  bewildered 
air.  Then,  seeing  Nance  still  sitting  with  her 
chin  on  her  hands,  she  rose  somewhat  crossly, 
gathered  up  her  knitting,  and  went  towards  the 
door. 

"  Ye  can  sit  there  till  it  be  broad  daylight, 
listening  to  Alec's  clavers,  gin  ye  like,  Nance, 
but  as  for  me,  I'm  off  to  my  bed." 

At  her  words  Nance  rose  too.  But  she  did 
not  go  away  at  once.  She  only  leaned  on  the 
table  with  her  palms  behind  her,  and  her  eyes 
shone  far  brighter  than  the  lamp  as  I  saw  them 
still  turned  on  me. 

"  Sweetheart,"  said  I,  "  will  ye  wait  for  me? 
Will  ye  believe  in  me?  " 

"  Ye  may  come  and  see  me  again  the  morn's 
nicht,"  she  answered  softly.  "  And  now  slip 
awa':  I  maun  gang  after  my  sister." 

There  was  a  strange,  misty  light  about  her 


86  LADS'  LOVE. 

face,  a  loving  dimness  beaconed  shyly  in  her  eyes, 
and  her  lips  were  red  like  poppies  among  white 
standing  corn — a  rare  thing  to  see,  but  when 
once  seen  never  forgotten. 

"  And  the  three  kisses,"  said  I,  going  about 
the  table  to  her.  "  The  rest  ha'e  gone  and  left 
us  by  ourselves.  You  must  gi'e  me  them  a' " 

"  Must !  "  she  said.  "  Is  that  the  way  you 
court  a  lass — to  begin  the  very  first  night  with 
musts  f" 

A  flash  of  something  that  was  not  mirth,  nor 
yet  love,  but  akin  to  both,  passed  across  her 
face. 

"  But "  she  said,  and  then  stopped,  de- 
murely. 

I  waited  with  expectation  for  her  to  finish 
her  sentence. 

"  Yes,  Nance?  "  said  I  inquiringly.  But  for 
a  while  she  was  silent.  At  last,  however,  the 
words  came;  and,  for  the  first  time  that  night, 
she  looked  away. 

"  If  ye  kiss  as  weel  as  ye  court,"  she  said, 
"  ye  may  gi'e  me  twa — and  if  I  like  them  no  that 
ill,  I'll  see  if  I  canna  gi'e  ye  the  last  back  again, 
just  to  be  rid  o'  ye." 

And  so  I  did.  And  so  she  did.  Then,  the 
next  moment  after,  I  found  myself  fronting  the 
darkness  and  the  bite  of  the  misty  night  air,  with 


I   MAKE   LOVE   IN   EARNEST.  g/ 

a  reeling  brain  and  a  stunned  numbness  all 
through  me  as  if  I  had  fallen  from  a  great  height. 
The  French  window  was  black  and  fast  behind 
me,  and  I  stumbled  against  the  dyke  in  front 
without  feeling  it  hurt  me,  like  a  man  drunken 
— as  indeed  I  was.  For  though  I  had  kissed  a 
many  in  my  time,  that  touch  of  Nance  Chrystie's 
lips  ere  she  followed  her  sister  Grace  to  bed  was 
yet  truly  my  first  kiss  of  love. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  AFTERCOME. 

For  a  long  time  I  stood,  fixed  and  silent,  lean- 
ing against  the  rough  stones  of  the  dyke,  wait- 
ing for  my  love's  window  to  light  up.  But  though 
I  waited  half  an  hour  or  more,  all  the  side  of  the 
house  of  Nether  Neuk  remained  dark.  Then  I 
got  a  start.  The  night  was  still,  and  yet  a  clammy 
brooding  of  chillish  mist  had  somehow  filtered 
up  from  the  east.  An  owl  hooted  vaguely  far 
back  in  the  woods,  and  then  again  the  vault  of 
night  was  lonely. 

Suddenly  a  chill  hand  stole  into  mine,  and  I 
snatched  my  fingers  away  as  quickly  as  if  an 
adder  had  crawled  into  my  palm  out  of  the  crev- 
iced stones  of  the  dyke. 

"  Wheesh !  "  said  a  voice,  low  down  near  the 
ground.  "  They  ha'e  heard  what  you  and  Nance 
said  to  yin  anither,  and  they  are  waiting  down 
by  the  loaning  fit  to  do  ye  a  mischief." 

"  Who  are  waiting,  and  who  may  you  be  that 

88 


THE   AFTERCOME. 


89 


tells  me  so  kindly  of  it?  "  said  I,  trying  to  pierce 
the  misty  dark. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  voice,  "  I'm  juist  Rab 
An'erson's  De'il,  and  my  sister,  the  Hoolet,  she 
is  at  your  ither  side.  We  ken  a'  aboot  you  and 
Nance.  We  saw  ye  gi'e  her  a  kiss.  But  we'll  no' 
tell.  Dinna  be  fear't.  But  it's  Allan  Herd  and 
Mathy  Kerr,  that's  waiting  to  be  upsides  wi'  you 
for  makin'  love  to  their  lasses.  Allan  is  as  mad 
as  he  can  be,  and  says  that  he  will  brain  ye  as 
readily  as  he  wad  stamp  on  a  puddock,  and  Mathy 
says  he'll  help  him  to  do  it.  So  the  Hoolet  and 
me  cam  to  warn  ye." 

"  And  we  saw  what  ye  got  the  noo  frae 
Nance.  B'ut  we'll  no'  tell,"  chimed  in  the  piping 
voice  of  the  Hoolet  from  the  other  side. 

"  Ye  are  guid  bairns,"  said  I,  "  and  I'll  no' 
forget  ye." 

Then  I  paused  to  think  what  I  should 
do. 

"  Gang  ower  the  dyke  back,  Alec  McQuhirr," 
again  the  voice  of  the  Rab  An'erson  De'il  spoke 
in  my  ear.  "  Dinna  be  feared.  Then  the  Hoolet 
and  me  will  cry  up  to  that  auld  Sawtan  Peter 
himsel',  and  send  him  doon  the  loan  to  Allan 
Herd  and  Mathy  Kerr.  They  lickit  me  wi'  a 
hazel  stick  the  last  night  they  cam'  by  the  Lang 
Wood  o'  Larbrax,  but  ye  were  aye  kind  to  us. 


QO  LADS'   LOVE. 

And  mair  than  that,  Nance  likes  ye — at  least, 
the  noo!"* 

Though  the  last  clause  was  added  as  an  after- 
thought, it  was  evidently  a  perfectly  sincere  trib- 
ute to  the  transitory  nature  of  Nance's  affections. 

I  withdrew  quickly  over  the  dyke,  and  slipped 
down  the  orchard  hedge  till  I  could  see  the  house 
of  Nether  Neuk  loom  up  like  a  fortalice,  behind 
its  beech-trees  and  the  few  domed  haystacks 
which  were  all  that  remained  of  last  year's  crop. 
It  rose  white  and  still  in  the  glimmering  twi- 
light, presenting  a  strangely  military  aspect  with 
its  rectangular  shape,  its  barred  courtyard,  its 
barn  loopholed  as  if  for  musketry — a  legacy  no 
doubt  from  the  days,  not  so  very  old,  when  every 
hill-farm  must  keep  its  own  cattle  and  be  ready 
to  stand  a  siege  like  a  fortress,  with  no  garrison 
but  its  own  stalwart  sons  and  able-bodied  serv- 
ing-men. 

Waiting  thus  in  the  dark  of  the  orchard  angle 
I  heard  a  stone  tinkle  against  the  glass  of  a  win- 
dow. Then  there  came  a  pause  of  silence.  Again 
the  pebbles  jingled — a  handful  this  time.  The 
window  was  thrown  up  fiercely,  and  something 
white  appeared  thereat. 

"  What  nicht-rakers  may  ye  be  that  throw 

*  /.  e.,  for  the  present. 


THE   AFTERCOME.  91 

stanes  at  my  window?  "  cried  the  angry  voice 
of  Peter  Chrystie.  "  A  man  canna  get  his  natu- 
ral sleep!  " 

"  I'm  just  Rab  An'erson's  lass,"  said  the  Hoo- 
let,  in  a  weak  voice,  "  and  there's  twa  men  doon 
at  the  loanin'  fit  lyin'  ahint  the  dyke  wi'  muckle 
sticks,  an'  I  darena  gang  hame." 

The  Hoolet  had  been  put  up  to  speak  the 
piece,  chiefly  because  the  De'il  was  distinctly  out 
of  favour  with  Peter,  owing  to  sundry  acts  of 
larceny  connected  with  the  orchard  and  garden. 

"  And  what  do  ye  here  at  this  time  o'  nicht, 
ye  gypsy — helpin'  your  lazy,  ill-set  faither  to 
poach,  nae  doot.  But  at  ony  rate  I'se  get  my 
gun  and  shift  thae  vaigabonds  in  the  loanin'. 
They  can  be  after  little  good." 

Presently  the  front  door  was  cautiously 
opened  and  Peter,  with  his  gun  held  in  the  hol- 
low of  one  arm,  stole  on  his  stocking  soles  past 
my  place  of  refuge.  I  could  hear  him  pant  and 
wheeze  as  he  went  by,  and  a  stream  of  oaths,  such 
as  ill  became  an  elder,  rumbled  half  submerged 
in  his  throat.  His  muffled  footsteps  died  away 
on  the  short  turf,  and  the  next  sound  I  heard 
was  a  loud  rumble  as  the  stones  of  the  loaning 
dyke  went  rattling  to  the  ground.  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  noise  of  blows,  a  long  thunderous 
blast  of  "  language,"  the  loud  report  of  a  gun, 


92  LADS'   LOVE. 

and  then,  last  of  all,  the  clatter  of  fleeing  foot- 
steps. So  I  knew  that  Peter  had  fallen  on  the 
ambush  which  had  been  laid  for  me,  and  that  he 
had  dispersed  the  enemy  with  heavy  loss.  For 
there  was  no  Hempie  this  time  to  draw  the 
charge  and  to  substitute  the  persuasive  and  suc- 
culent pea  for  the  coldly  imperious  handful  of 
lead  drops. 

"  I'll  learn  you  to  frequent  the  Nether  Neuk 
withoot  an  invite,  my  lads,"  cried  Peter.  "  I'm 
thinkin'  I  peppered  the  pair  o'  ye  where  ye'll 
ha'e  some  bother  in  scartin'.  It  will  learn  ye  to 
come  gilravagin'  aboot  an  honest  man's  hoose, 
deprivin'  him  o'  his  nicht's  rest  and  gettin'  decent 
lasses  an  ill  name." 

I  lay  still  behind  the  orchard  hedge  and  let 
him  go  grumbling  home,  muttering  maledictions 
upon  all  lovers  and  other  ill-designing  night- 
rakers. 

•  ••»••• 

I  had  a  long  way  to  go,  and  it  was  already 
grey  day  when  I  got  back  to  Drumquhat.  And 
I  did  not  like  the  feel  of  the  place  as  I  came  up 
the  loaning.  It  had  a  look  as  if  somebody  were 
already  stirring,  though  as  yet  no  smoke  rose 
from  the  chimneys.  For  there  is  always  a  differ- 
ent look  about  a  farm-town  after  the  first  person 
rises  in  the  morning.  Also  the  Drumquhat  poul- 


THE   AFTERCOME. 


93 


try  were  awake.  They  had  come  down  from 
their  sleeping-bauks  and  were  contentedly  pick- 
ing about  among  the  straw  of  the  yard.  I  heard 
an  unusual  clattering  in  the  stable.  So  without 
pausing  to  think,  I  made  my  way  there,  hoping 
to  gain  the  shelter  of  my  gable  chamber  unde- 
tected. 

But  lo!  there  was  my  father  at  the  horse; 
and  he  did  not  even  turn  round  when  I  came  to 
the  door.  I  saw  Brown  Bess  look  wistfully  over 
her  shoulder  for  the  lump  of  sugar  which  I  stole 
for  her  out  of  my  mother's  cupboard  every  morn- 
ing. Finding,  however,  that  her  new  groom  did 
not  give  it  to  her,  she  jibbed  restively  and  stood 
obstinately  sideways.  Next  she  tried  slily  to  ad- 
minister a  playful  bite  to  her  placid  neighbour, 
Mary  Gray,  over  the  edge  of  the  stall.  But  the 
resounding  clap  which  she  received  on  her  flank, 
as  well  as  a  stern  and  sharp  command  to  "  Stand 
up  there !  "  reminded  Brown  Bess  that  on  this 
occasion  she  had  to  do  with  a  Cameronian  elder, 
and  not  with  a  mere  adherent. 

"  This  is  a  bonny  time  to  be  comin'  crawlin' 
hame  to  your  bed,  my  man,"  said  my  father  at 
last.  "  Where  ha'e  ye  been  a'  nicht?  Is  this 
what  they  learned  ye  aboot  the  college?  There's 
enough  by-roads  to  hell  to  be  learned  here  in 
Gallowa',  withoot  payin'  a'  that  siller  to  learn 


94  LADS'   LOVE. 

them  in  Edinburgh.  What  ha'e  ye  to  say  for 
yoursel'?  " 

I  had,  in  fact,  nothing  to  say.  So  very  dis- 
creetly I  held  my  tongue. 

"  Wha  has  been  wi'  ye? — Ha'e  ye  been  in  ill 
company,  Alec?  "  he  went  on,  now  working  away 
at  Mary  Gray. 

I  had,  indeed,  been  in  company  of  the  best, 
but  I  could  not  quite  tell  my  father  of  it.  So 
I  said  with  much  meekness,  "  I  was  ower  by,  wi' 
Allan  Herd  and  Matthew  Kerr,  and  I  didna  ken 
it  was  so  late." 

"  Late!  "  cried  my  father  ironically.  "  Faith, 
I  wad  caa'  it  early.  An'  no'  that  early,  either. 
For  I  have  a'  your  work  dune,  my  sluggard. 
There's  nocht  left  for  ye  to  do,  but  e'en  to  gang 
your  ways  up  to  the  stable  laft  and  count  your 
neckties.  There  maun  be  some  score  o'  them 
— the  spotted  and  the  striped,  the  speckled,  the 
grisled,  and  the  ring-straked — more  difficult  to 
keep  track  o'  than  a'  Jacob's  yowes  on  the  braes 
o'  Padan-Aram!" 

In  the  kitchen  I  met  my  mother.  And  that 
was  a  thousand  times  worse  than  coming  on  my 
father  in  the  stable.  For  she  stood  and  looked 
at  me  for  all  the  world  as  if  I  had  committed 
a  murder,  and  had  come  home  with  the  officers 
of  justice  hard  on  my  trail. 


THE  AFTERCOME. 


95 


"  Oh,  Alec,  ye'll  break  your  mither's  heart  wi' 
your  ongangin' !  "  she  said,  clasping  her  hands 
pitifully.  "  Ye  ha'ena  been  in  your  bed  this  nicht. 
Where  ha'e  ye  been?  Your  faither  is  in  a  terrible 
state  aboot  ye.  What  for  canna  ye  bide  decently 
in  your  bed  and  tak'  your  sleep — and  no'  ha'e  to 
gang  aboot  a'  the  day  blinkin'  like  a  hoolet  that 
has  lost  its  road  hame?  " 

"  Oh,  mither,"  said  I,  "  dinna  be  feared.  I 
ha'e  juist  been  ower  by  wi'  Allan  and  Mathy." 

"  Allan  and  Mathy — a  likely  tale !  "  cried  my 
mother,  working  herself  up,  "  ragin'  and  tearin' 
aboot  the  Nether  Neuk,  mair  likely.  Oh,  Alec, 
if  my  eldest  son  is  to  turn  oot  a  prodigal  amang 
the  swine-troughs,  I  dinna  ken  what  I  shall  do. 
Ha'e  ye  fed  the  pigs?  "  she  continued,  as  if  the 
mention  of  the  prodigal  had  called  up  an  appro- 
priate subject. 

I  went  to  the  great  boiler  in  which  the  pig's 
meat  had  been  put  to  simmer  the  night  before, 
and,  having  filled  two  buckets  of  the  stuff,  I  car- 
ried them  across  the  yard  to  where  in  the  styes 
the  porkers  were  already  leaping  up  with  their 
forefeet  on  the  doors  and  singing  a  shrill  morning 
invocation  to  the  gods  of  the  belly. 

When  I  had  come  back  and  sat  down  to  the 
porridge  which  my  mother  had  ready  for  me,  I 
could  hear  her  and  my  father  talking  together 


96  LADS'   LOVE. 

in  the  little  back  room  which  opened  off  the 
kitchen. 

Strange  to  say,  it  was  my  father  who  was 
defending  me.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears, 
for  Saunders  McQuhirr  had  been  twenty  years 
a  consistent  Cameronian  elder. 

"  Hoot,  Mary,"  he  was  saying,  "  what  for  do 
ye  make  sic  a  mourning,  a'  aboot  the  laddie 
steppin'  oot  for  a  quiet  hour  at  e'en,  as  ithers 
ha'e  dune  before  him?  If  the  lasses  are  decent 
lasses,  let  him  e'en  ha'e  his  blink.  Ha'e  ye  for- 
gotten how  mony  and  mony  a  time  somebody 
cam'  doon  to  meet  me  langsyne,  at  the  darksome 
road  end  where  the  Shirmers'  loanin'  begins  to 
wimple  up  the  brae?  " 

But  my  mother  could  not  yet  take  that  view 
of  it.  She  declined  to  recall  old  memories,  and 
instead  confined  herself  to  my  present  and  ac- 
tual transgressions — which,  indeed,  were  patent 
enough. 

"  Saunders  McQuhirr,  I  wonder  to  hear  ye," 
she  cried,  "  and  you  an  elder  o'  the  kirk — up- 
haudin'  the  haverels  o'  thae  Chrystie  lasses — aye, 
and  evenin'  them  to  your  married  wife.  It'll 
never  be  wi'  my  guid-wull  that  Alec  marries  ony 
yin  o'  them." 

"  Mary,"  said  my  father  gently,  "  gin  Alec 
left  the  task  o'  looking  for  a  wife  to  you,  he 


THE   AFTERCOME. 


97 


wad  ha'e  a  fine  chance  o'  ganging  a  bachelor  to 
his  grave." 

"  Oh,"  said  my  mother,  "  ye  make  a  mistake, 
guidman.  I'm  no'  again  marriage  in  the  gen- 
eral  " 

"  No,  Mary,  only  when  it  comes  to  be  your 
ain  son  that  slips  oot  to  see  his  lass — then  ye 
are  again  it  in  the  particular,"  quoth  my  father, 
with  more  wit  than  discretion — as,  after  thirty 
years  of  experience,  he  might  have  known.  But 
when  it  comes  to  a  domestic  debate,  the  wisest 
and  most  experienced  man  finds  that  his  unruly 
evil  is  infinitively  more  restive  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. 

"  But  I'm  tellin'  ye,  Saunders  McQuhirr," 
cried  my  mother.  "  Tak'  my  word  for  it,  thae 
Chrysties  will  never  mak'  guid  wives  to  ony  man. 
The  very  last  time  I  was  up  at  the  Neuk,  guess 
ye  what  I  saw.  The  three  o'  them  wi'  their  com- 
pany goons  kilted  to  their  waists,  milkin'  the 
kye  in  the  gloamin'  in  their  braw,  striped  petti- 
coats, and  a  great  silly  gomeral  o'  a  lad  at  every 
cow's  tail  plaitin'  it  into  strands  and  tiein'  it 
up  wi'  ribbons.  I  defy  ye  to  say  that  ye  ever 
kenned  me  at  ony  sic  daft-like  ploys  in  my  young 
days?  " 

My  father  laughed  a  little.  I  liked  to  hear 
him  laugh  like  that.  I  kenned  now  why  those 


98  LADS'   LOVE. 

who  for  their  misdeeds  had  to  appear  before  the 
sessions,  were  so  keen  to  have  him  there  when 
their  cases  were  dealt  with. 

"  Mary,"  he  said  softly,  and  I'm  sure  (though 
I  could  not  see)  that  he  had  his  arm  about  my 
mother's  waist,  "  Mary,  how  was  it  then — can 
ye  mind? — that  the  twa  luggies  o'  new  milk  were 
spilled  at  the  corner  o'  the  Shirmers'  byre,  when 
ye  were  carrying  them  into  the  milk-hoose — 
aye,  and  that  within  ten  yairds  o'  the  brass  but- 
tons on  the  back  o'  your  faither's  coat,  decent 
man?  " 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  moment,  but  a  curi- 
ous silence  instead.  Then  I  heard  my  mother 
say,  "  Weel,  Sandy,  I  suppose  it  was  because  the 
brass  buttons  were  on  the  back  o'  my  faither's 
coat." 

Then  there  befell  another  and  a  longer  silence 
in  the  little  ben  room.  And  presently  my  father 
came  out. 

As  he  passed  me  sitting  dejectedly  enough 
at  my  porridge,  he  gave  me  a  bit  clap  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  It'  a'  richt,"  he  whispered.  "  Gang  ben  and 
mak'  it  up  wi'  your  mither." 

And  I  declare  his  kindness  came  over  me  like 
a  wave.  I  was  ready  to  greet  like  a  bairn.  If 
there  lives  a  better  man  than  my  father  in  broad 


THE   AFTERCOME. 


99 


Scotland  I  have  yet  to  see  him.  And  even  as 
he  had  said  I  found  it  easy  to  make  my  peace 
with  my  mother. 

But  after  all  was  over  and  the  treaty  signed, 
my  mother,  as  was  her  nature,  could  not  forbear 
a  parting  word. 

"  Gin  it's  to  be  a  Chrystie,"  said  she,  "  I  hope 
it's  Grace,  for  she's  the  doucest  and  has  least  to 
say." 

"  Gin  it's  a  Chrystie,"  said  I  in  answer,  "  it'll 
be  Nance — that  is,  if  she'll  ha'e  me.  For  she's 
the  bonniest." 

"  Beauty  is  but  skin  deep,"  quoth  my  mother 
wisely. 

"  Maybe,"  said  I,  stroking  her  cheek,  which 
was  yet  smooth  as  an  egg,  soft  as  a  peach,  and 
for  all  her  years  and  her  bairns  had  the  red 
blood  still  mantling  bonny  in  it — "  maybe,  mith- 
er;  but  what  the  waur  are  ye  o'  your  skin  keepin' 
its  beauty  like  that  o'  ony  young  lass  in  the  pair- 
ish?  And  richt  prood  are  your  guidman  and  your 
weans  of  it.  Surely  ye  are  nane  the  waur  a  mither 
for  being  bonny  to  look  at,  mither  mine!  " 

And  I  leaned  over  and  kissed  her. 

She  gave  me  a  gentle  push,  actually  blushing 
a  little,  but  none  so  ill-pleased,  and  taking  it 
well. 

"  Gae  'way  wi'  ye,  Alec,"  she  said.    "  I  declare 


100  LADS'   LOVE. 

ye  think  ye  can  flairdie  and  come  ower  your  very 
auld  mither  wi'  your  slee  fleechin'  tongue.  Keep 
thae  sayings  for  Nance  Chrystie,  for  I'm  lang 
past  carin'  for  sic  talk — doon-richt  flattery,  I  caa' 
it." 

And  my  mother  complacently  settled  her  cap 
on  her  head  and  took  a  look  at  the  cracked  bed- 
room glass. 

Then,  as  she  went  out  of  the  door,  she  said, 
a  little  thoughtfully,  "  I'm  doubtfu'  that  ye  are 
your  father's'  ain  son,  Alec." 

"  And  as  far  as  I  ken  I  couldna  be  connected 
with  a  better  man!  "  I  replied. 

But  what  that  had  to  do  with  the  case  I  know 
not,  saving  that  my  mother's  saying  about  my 
father  may  possibly  throw  some  light  on  a  Cam- 
eronian  elder's  manner  of  wooing — a  recondite 
and  much-disputed  subject. 

When  I  went  to  see  Nance  on  Wednesday 
night,  the  Hempie  met  me  at  the  loaning  foot. 

"  Nance  is  in  there,"  she  said  pointedly,  but 
not  spitefully,  nodding  her  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  orchard,  "  and  I'm  gaun  a  walk  wi'  Allan 
Herd.  He's  far  better-lookin'  than  you  ony  way, 
and  he  thinks  me  bonnier  than  Nance." 

So  I  met  my  love  in  the  shade  of  the  great 
apple-tree,  where  the  foliage  and  the  ivy  make 
a  gloom  deep  as  a  cavern,  and  where  the  lower 


THE   AFTERCOME.  IOI 

boughs  are  spread  along  the  wall  like  a  cushioned 
seat.  There  I  took  up  the  subject  again  and  told 
her  how  I  loved  her.  And  only  after  an  hour 
of  it  did  I  pause  a  moment  for  breath. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Nance,  without  raising  her 
head  from  where  it  had  been  resting,  but  giving 
me  a  push  with  the  side  of  it  so  that  the  curls 
about  her  ear  (the  daintiest  brown  things  in  the 
world)  tickled  my  neck. 

"  But  that  is  all  Nance,"  said  I,  looking  down 
and  touching  the  tangle  of  her  hair  where  it  pre- 
tended to  part  in  the  middle,  but  did  not — "  what 
else  is  there  to  tell  you?  " 

Nance  gave  a  little  happy  sigh  and  nestled 
contentedly  lower — on  the  apple-tree  bough. 

"  Then  just  tell  it  me  all  over  again  from  the 
beginning!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  Hempie  sat 
quiet  and  resigned  under  all  this.  Indeed,  the 
expression  of  scorn  which  signified  itself  by  the 
elevation  of  that  young  lady's  nose  in  the  air,  be- 
came so  pronounced  when  I  chanced  to  pass  her, 
that  the  bridge  of  that  organ  was  in  danger  of 
growing  permanently  parallel  with  the  roofs  of 
the  outhouses  of  Nether  Neuk,  while  the  tip 
pointed  almost  permanently  to  the  zenith. 

Nor  was  this  owing  to  any  sense  of  injured 
beauty  or  wounded  self-love.  What  the  Hempie 
felt  most  keenly  was  the  desertion  of  a  comrade. 
I  had  been  untrue  to  our  bond.  Forewarned  as 
well  as  forearmed,  I  had  fallen  a  willing  victim 
to  arts  which,  seated  side  by  side  at  the  well,  she 
and  I  had  often  flouted  and  despised  in  com- 
pany. 

As  a  general  rule,  during  these  first  days  of 
my  declared  love  for  Nance,  the  Hempie  avoided 


THE   HONOURABLE  SOPHRONIA. 


103 


me.  She  had  a  peculiarly  effective  and  ladylike 
way  of  doing  this.  We  met,  let  us  say,  in  the 
green  lane  which  meanders  towards  Nether  Neuk 
from  the  direction  of  Whinnyliggate  and  Drum- 
quhat,  as  if  it  had  no  particular  intention  of  ever 
getting  there  or  indeed  anywhere  else.  During 
part  of  its  course,  this  by-way  has  no  boundary 
but  the  pasture-fields  where  Peter  Chrystie's 
cows  are  for  ever  either  busily  cropping,  or  medi- 
tatively chewing  the  cud.  If  I  chanced  to  meet 
the  Hempie  on  this  part  of  the  thoroughfare,  she 
would  walk  straight  towards  me,  staring  through 
and  beyond  me  as  if  she  had  no  notion  that  any 
human  being  was  in  the  vicinity.  Then,  when 
about  ten  feet  of  distance  separated  us,  and  a 
collision  was  imminent,  she  would,  so  to  speak, 
suddenly  become  aware  of  my  proximity.  Where- 
upon she  would  instantly  draw  her  skirts  aside 
from  any  possible  contamination  with  the  loath- 
some thing  in  front  of  her,  at  the  same  time 
elevating  her  nose  and  depressing,  correspond- 
ingly, the  back  of  her  head.  Then  she  would 
wheel  sharply  round  and  strike  across  the  fields 
at  right  angles  to  her  former  line  of  march.  There 
seemed  to  be  some  reason  for  calling  this  the  Cut 
Direct. 

Nor  was  this  method  only  of  use  when  cir- 
cumstances were  so  entirely  favourable  as  in  the 


104 


LADS'  LOVE. 


green  lane,  with  all  the  cow-pastures  on  either 
side  upon  which  to  steer  a  tangential  course.  I 
met  the  Hempie  one  day  in  the  narrow  pass  be- 
tween the  low  foot-hills  of  the  pig-styes  and  the 
unassailable  precipices  of  the  barn  gable-end. 

"  I  have  her  this  time!  "  I  chuckled  to  myself 
— somewhat  hastily,  however. 

But  I  had  not.    I  did  not  know  the  Hempie. 

On  she  came,  gazing  unconsciously  into  space 
somewhere  about  a  hundred  miles  in  the  rear 
of  my  head.  We  arrived  at  the  regulation  dis- 
tance from  each  other.  A  spasm  of  disgust  passed 
over  her  features.  "  What !  "  (she  seemed  to  say) 
— "  is  that  a  toad  I  see  before  me?  "  Her  very 
nostrils  grew  voluble  with  loathing. 

Instantly  one  hand  grasped  the  virgin  skirt, 
severe,  frugal,  incorruptible.  Once  more  the 
Hempie  wheeled  sharply  to  the  left,  sprang  with 
one  fine  flying  leap  upon  the  wall  of  the  nearest 
pig-stye;  then,  marching  majestically  erect  over 
the  roofs  of  the  others,  she  ascended  the  rigging 
of  the  byre  like  a  cat,  grasped  the  branches  of 
the  pear-tree  which  reached  over  from  the  or- 
chard, and  swung  herself  gracefully  down  out  of 
sight,  upon  the  farther  side. 

I  was  left  standing  speechless  yet  eloquent 
with  astonishment — turned  as  it  were  to  stone 
in  my  tracks,  gazing  incredulously  after  her. 


Marching  majestically  erect  over  the  roofs. 


THE   HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA.  105 

I  asked  Nance  how  the  Hempie  treated  her. 

"  What!  "  she  replied  in  some  astonishment — 
"  the  Hempie?  I  never  noticed.  What  does  it 
matter  how  the  Hempie  treats  anybody?  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  nineteen  speaking  of  fif- 
teen when  both  are  sisters.  But  not  thus  cava- 
lierly could  I  afford  to  treat  the  Hempie.  Had 
we  not  been  of  a  long  season  friends  and  com- 
rades? Besides,  she  knew  too  much;  and,  how- 
ever un-Hempie-like  the  action — yet  in  some  ac- 
cess of  jealous  fury,  she  might  possibly  divulge  to 
Nance  that  which  she  had  received  from  me  under 
trust. 

For — I  blush  to  say  it — I  had  romanced  some- 
what freely. 

It  had  fallen  out  in  this  way.  Nance  and 
Grace  were  (let  us  say)  in  the  byre  at  the  milking, 
with  the  servant  lasses  to  assist  them,  the  par- 
ticular attendant  swain  on  duty  that  night  being 
at  his  post  behind  each  cow's  tail.  Or  the  two 
elder  maids  walked  up  and  down,  arm  in  arm  for 
mutual  protection  by  the  orchard  wall,  Allan 
and  Mathy  on  either  side  (but  not  making  much 
of  it).  Then  it  had  been  our  custom — the  Hem- 
pie's  and  mine,  that  is — to  sit  down  by  the  well, 
swing  our  legs  comfortably  over  the  stone  kerb, 
and  rail  at  love. 

"  How  much  better  it  is,  Hempie  " — thus  I 


106  LADS'   LOVE. 

would  begin — "  for  you  and  me  to  sit  and  talk 
about  Princes  Street  Gardens,  and — and  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses  "  (the  Hempie  was  fond  of 
history)  "  than  to  be  aye  trying  to  squeeze  one 
another's  hands." 

"  I  would  just  like  to  see  ye  try!  "  said  the 
Hempie,  with  unnecessary  truculence. 

"  And  more  sensible-like,  more  improving  to 
the  mind,"  I  continued.  "  O  Hempie,  after  all, 
you  and  me  are  the  only  sensible  folk!  Not  but 
what  I  have  tried  the  other  way  of  it  in  my  time. 
I  have  been  fair  sickened  with  it  in  Edinburgh, 
Hempie.  And  I  can  testify  that  love  is  nocht 
but  vanity." 

"  And  vexation  of  spirit, as  the  minister  says!" 
continued  the  Hempie  demurely. 

I  glanced  at  her  sharply.  It  was  surely  not 
possible  that  the  lassie  was  laughing  at  me — me, 
a  man  of  such  experience? 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  knuckling  little  stones  at  a 
puddock,  which  (like  a  person  contemplating 
matrimony)  could  not  make  up  its  mind  whether 
to  jump  into  the  well  and  be  unhappy,  or  to  stop 
outside  and  be  unhappy — "  go  on;  tell  us  about 
some  o'  your  Edinburgh  madames." 

"  Oh,  that,"  said  I  modestly — "  that's  all  non- 
sense." 

And  it  was — also  lies. 


THE   HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA.  \QJ 

"  Tell  us  about  the  Professor's  daughter;  or, 
no,  about  the  Honourable  Sophronia — that's  the 
best  o'  them  a'." 

She  had  them  all  by  heart. 

"  Well,"  I  would  say,  speaking  slowly — for 
the  reason  that  it  was  necessary  to  walk  carefully 
and  bethink  myself,  before  beginning  to  retell 
the  tale  of  the  Honourable  Sophronia,  or  any 
other  (the  Hempie  standing  no  nonsense  about 
discrepancies),  "  the  way  I  came  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  Honourable  Sophronia  was  this " 

"  Drive  on,  man!  " 

At  this  point  I  produced  a  peppermint  as  a 
sedative.  It  had  been  a  long  time  in  my  trousers' 
pocket,  but  the  kindly  twilight  covered  all  de- 
ficiencies. I  went  on  as  soon  as  I  heard  the  Hem- 
pie  sucking  steadily.  Then  I  knew  that  she  had 
got  over  the  first  coating,  which  I  feared  might 
have  been  flavoured  with  fish-hooks — also  worms. 
But  it  was  all  right.  I  will  say  this  for  her  that 
there  was  no  mim-mouthed  squeamishness  about 
the  Hempie. 

"  Well,  let  me  see,  it  was  at  the  kirk  that  I 
first  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Honourable 
Sophronia " 

"  What  kirk?  "  asked  the  Hempie.  Though 
she  knew  better  than  I — much  better. 

"  The  kirk  that  I  always  attended,"  I  replied, 


I08  LADS'    LOVE. 

with  dignity.  "  Her  father  is  an  elder.  He  is  an 
Earl " 

"  Ye  said  a  Marquis  last  time,  and  a  Lord 
Advocate  the  time  before!"  cried  the  Hempie 
unkindly. 

I  waved  my  hand  to  show  that  the  difference, 
even  if  it  existed  at  all,  was  too  trifling  for  de- 
bate. 

"  He  lived  in  Edinburgh  to  be  near  the  Parlia- 
ment  "  I  was  going  on  smoothly  now,  having 

got  a  lead. 

"  I  thocht  ye  telled  me  that  the  Parliament 
didna  sit  in  Edinburgh  now,  but  in  London — in 
the  Tower,  where  all  the  Kings  and  Queens  go 
to  be  born?  "  interpolated  the  Hempie. 

"  How  am  I  ever  to  tell  you  the  story  if  you 
keep  on  interrupting  like  this  with  your  silly 
questions?  "  I  demanded  severely. 

The  Hempie  was  penitent. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  ken!  "  she  answered  hum- 
bly, taking  another  shot  at  the  puddock  with  a 
bigger  stone. 

"  It  wasna  Parliament  but  Parliament  House 
he  lived  in,  if  ye  had  let  me  finish.  Sophronia's 
father  was  a  Lord  o'  Session." 

"  I  thought  ye  said  a  while  since  that  he  was 
an  Earl?  "  again  interrupted  the  Hempie. 

This  was  too  much. 


THE   HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA. 


109 


"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  Sophronia's  father 
lived  in  the  Parliament  Hoose,  because  he  was 
the  head  lord  o'  them  a' — and  he  is  always  a  Earl, 
by  virtue  of  his  office  !  " 

I  said  these  words  triumphantly,  as  well  I 
might.  I  had  got  the  phrase  that  time.  The 
Hempie  was  much  impressed. 

I  pursued  my  advantage  during  the  interval  of 
silence  which  succeeded. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  this  earl  of  session " 

"  Was  it  a  Kirk  Session? "  interjected  the 
Hempie. 

"  Hempie!  "  I  cried  sternly,  making  as  if  I 
would  rise  from  my  seat,  "  I  will  tell  you  not  a 
word  more — not  one  word!  " 

"  Weel,"  said  the  Hempie,  still  more  humbly, 
"  I'm  sure  I  didna  ken.  Ye  said  yoursel'  he  was 
an  elder." 

"  Maybe  you  would  like  to  tell  the  story  your- 
self, Hempie! "  retorted  I,  sarcastically.  For 
sometimes  I  knew  that  I  had  to  be  severe  with 
her. 

"  That  I  would.  I  could  get  on  a  heap  fast- 
er! "  cried  the  misleared  lassie,  her  impudence 
rising  instantly,  Phoenix-like,  out  of  the  ashes  of 
her  contrition. 

After  this  she  permitted  me  to  proceed  some 
little  way  without  further  articulate  cavilment. 


HO  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  I  met  the  Lady  Sophronia " 

"Ahem!"  said  the  Hempie. 

And  then  she  pretended  that  she  had  choked 
upon  the  peppermint  I  had  given  her.  But  I 
knew  better.  Peppermints  only  last  three  minutes 
with  such  suction-power  as  the  Hempie's,  and  it 
was  more  than  five  since  I  had  given  it  her.  She 
meant  that  I  had  called  the  heroine  the  Honour- 
able before. 

"  I  looked  long  and  severely  at  the  Hempie, 
but  she  only  coughed  and  patted  herself  on  the 
back — a  poor,  poor  subterfuge,  quite  patent 
to  me. 

"  As  I  say,  I  met  the  Lady  Sophronia  " — (I 
paused  for  objections,  marking  the  emphasis  in  a 
defiant  way:  none  were  lodged)  "at  church.  I 
was  in  the  front  row  of  the  gallery.  She  sat  be- 
low in  the  area.  She  looked  up  and  winked.  I 
looked  down  and  smiled." 

The  Hempie  help  up  her  hand,  and  cracked 
her  thumb  and  middle  finger  like  a  boy  at  school 
when  he  would  attract  the  teacher's  attention  and 
dares  not  speak. 

"  Well,  Hempie?  " 

"  How  could  she  wink  up?  She  must  hae 
gotten  an  awesome  twist  in  her  neck! " 

The  Hempie  tried  the  gymnastic  and  nearly 
fell  into  the  water. 


THE   HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA.  m 

"  Well,"  said  I  tolerantly  (for  it  is  wise  to 
make  these  little  concessions  sometimes),  "  per- 
haps it  was  the  other  way  about,  and  it  was  I  who 
winked  down,  and  the  Lady  Sophronia  who 
smiled  up!  " 

"Oh!"  said  the  Hempie  contentedly,  and 
swung  her  legs  rather  more  widely. 

She  had  not  hit  the  frog  yet,  and  he,  on  his 
part,  had  not  made  up  his  mind  about  the  leap 
in  the  dark.  After  all  there  was  the  getting  out 
again,  which,  like  finding  the  end  of  a  story  you 
have  made  up  and  then  forgotten,  .is  not  such  an 
easy  matter  as  going  in. 

I  also  proceeded  with  circumspection,  sound- 
ing as  I  went. 

"  So  when  we  came  out  of  the  kirk,  her  father 
having  stopped  to  count  the  collection,  I  says 
to  her,  says  I,  '  How  do  you  do? '  And  she  says 
back  to  me,  '  How  do  you  do? '  And  that  was 
the  way  I  got  acquainted  with  the  Lady  So- 
phronia! " 

I  looked  keenly  at  the  face  of  the  Hempie,  to 
see  if  I  had  told  the  tale  in  this  manner  the  time 
before.  But  the  little  monkey  sat  as  demure  as  a 
pussy-cat  in  a  creamery  where  she  is  supposed 
to  feed  on  the  rats  she  kills,  and  said  nothing. 

"  So  of  course  after  that  we  knew  that  we 
loved  one  another!" 


112  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  That  was  rather  quick,"  said  the  Hempie. 
"  How  on  earth  did  ye  ken  so  fast?  I  hae  said 
'How  do  you  do!'  to  mony  a  body,  but  they 
never  took  it  for  granted  that  I  loved  them.  Na, 
and  blessed  weel  was  it  for  them  that  they  didna," 
continued  the  Hempie,  "  I  wad  hae  ta'en  them 
a  most  almichty  rattle  on  the  jaw  if  they  had." 

"  Ah,  but  you  see  it  was  not  so  much  the 
words  themselves  as  the  way  she  said  them,  and 
the  bonny  smirkin'  smile  she  gied  me,  Hempie." 

I  illustrated  the  smile. 

"  It  makes  you  look  very  unweel — like  our 
wee  black  calf  that  died  o'  the  bowel  complaint!  " 
said  the  Hempie,  looking  critically  at  me. 

Now  this  was  decidedly  damping — but  after 
all  the  romancer  must  meet  his  trials  somewhere; 
and  the  pleasure  of  creation  is,  when  all  is  said 
and  done,  its  own  great  reward. 

"  So  as  soon  as  the  Lady  Sophronia  and  I 
knew  that  we  loved  one  another,  we  arranged  to 
get  married." 

"  Dear  me.    Was  that  no'  hasty?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  I  airily,  "  I  was  a  young  fool  and 
kenned  no  better!  I  just  did  it  for  the  experi- 
ence, and  because  the  lass  was  so  desperate  keen 
to  get  me." 

"  And  what  way  did  ye  take  to  get  married?  " 
asked  the  Hempie. 


THE   HONOURABLE  SOPHRONIA.  n$ 

"  O  that!  "  said  I.  "  I  juist  asked  her  to  meet 
me  on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  take  a  walk  on 
the  Calton.  For  that  was  the  day  she  could  most 
easily  get  away  from  the  boarding-school  and  me 
from  the  college." 

I  saw  the  query  about  the  boarding-school  in 
the  Hempie's  face,  so  I  dodged  under  it,  and 
hurried  on.  For  I  knew  that  the  boarding-school 
was  a  new  and  untried  inspiration. 

"  Is  the  Calton  Hill  the  place  where  folks  get 
married  in  Edinburgh?  "  she  asked. 

.  "  No,"  said  I,  "  though  no  doubt  it  is  often 
so  far  on  the  road.  But  ye  see  it's  nice  and  cen- 
tral, and  there's  a  fine  cheap  confectioner's  shop 
handy,  at  the  very  foot  o'  the  steps." 

This  told  on  the  Hempie  at  once.  I  saw  her 
wishing  that  she  lived  nearer  the  Calton.  The 
confectioner's  shop  might,  in  time,  modify  her 
ideas  even  of  love  and  matrimony. 

"  So,"  said  I,  "  the  Lady  Sophronia  and 
I " 

"  Call  her  the  Honourable  whiles,  Alec," 
pleaded  the  Hempie,  "  juist  for  auld  sake's  sake, 
and  to  show  there's  nae  ill-feelin' ! " 

I  scorned  to  take  the  least  notice. 

"  Well,  we  met  on  the  Calton  on  Saturday,  as 
I  say.  It  was  a  fine  day,  and  the  clouds " 

"  Never  mind  the  clouds!     Drive  on  wi'  the 


LADS'   LOVE. 

story!"  cried  the  Hempie  hastily.  She  hated 
descriptions  of  scenery  in  romances.  And  small 
blame  to  her. 

"  It  was  a  fine  day,"  I  continued  more  deliber- 
ately, "  and  Sophronia  and  I  walked  together, 
hand-in-hand." 

The  Hempie  set  hers  one  above  the  other  on 
her  drugget  bodice  a  little  above  the  waist,  and 
turned  up  the  whites  of  her  eyes  to  express  cyn- 
ically her  idea  of  the  rapture  of  love's  young 
dream. 

"  And  so  I  told  her  as  we  walked  about  the 
law  of  Scotland — and  how  ye  can  be  married  by 
declaring  yourself  man  and  wife  in  the  presence 
of  three  witnesses." 

"  '  That's  easy!  Let's! '  said  the  Honourable 
Sophronia." 

The  Hempie  looked  pleased  at  the  name.  It 
was  like  old  times. 

"  So  I  said  that  I  loved  her  to  distraction,  but 
alas!  I  had  only  twenty  pounds  a  year  to  pay 
my  fees  and  keep  myself  at  college. 

"  '  How  much  are  the  fees? '  asked  the  Lady 
Sophronia. 

"  '  Eleven  pounds,  and  a  pound  for  the  library 
ticket;  but  ye  can  get  that  back  after  a  week! ' 
said  I,  plucking  up  a  little  heart  at  the  last 
item. 


THE   HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA.  njj 

"  The  Lady  Sophronia  appeared  somewhat 
disturbed.  But  presently  her  face  cleared,  and 
she  sighed. 

"  '  After  all,  that  leaves  eight — no,  nine — 
pounds,  for  cakes  and  candy! '  she  said. 

"  So  after  that,  of  course,  as  a  gentleman,  I 
could  make  no  further  objection. 

"  Then  we  set  out  to  find  our  three  witnesses. 
At  first  we  could  see  nothing  but  half-a-dozen 
bairns,  playing  at  marbles. 

"'These  winna  do!'  said  I  to  the  Honour- 
able; '  they  are  under  age.' 

"  '  So  are  we! '  said  Sophronia  instantly — as  if 
it  had  just  occurred  to  her. 

"  '  That  does  not  matter! '  I  answered  cheer- 
fully. 

"  There  were  also  a  pair  or  two  of  lovers  walk- 
ing about  like  ourselves,  trying  their  best  to  keep 
out  of  each  others'  way. 

"  I  proposed  that  we  should  take  a  few  of 
these  into  our  confidence,  as  presumably  pos- 
sessed of  a  fellow-feeling  for  our  distress.  But 
the  Lady  Sophronia  was  markedly  opposed  to 
any  such  course. 

"  '  They  might  want  us  to  be  witnesses  to 
their  marriages,  and  it  would  never  do  to  mix 
things  up  in  that  way,'  she  said. 

"  So,  as  there  was  really  something  in  that,  I 


Il6  LADS'   LOVE. 

fell  again  into  the  depths  of  despair,  till  I  be- 
thought me  of  the  old  pensioners  who  take  care 
of  the  National  Monument.  There  were  three  of 
them  in  my  time. 

"  So  we  went  to  the  Monument  and  So- 
phronia  and  I  explained  to  them  what  we  wanted. 
The  whole  three  looked  very  unsympathetic,  till 
I  proposed  to  give  them  a  shilling  each  for  the 
job.  But  Sophronia  whispered  that  sixpence  was 
quite  enough,  and  that  we  could  spend  the  other 
eighteenpence  at  Ritchie's  after  we  were  married, 
on  our  marriage  breakfast,  as  it  were — which, 
when  you  come  t&  think  of  it,  was  decidedly  mod- 
erate. It  was  strange  how  calm  and  business- 
like dear  Sophronia  was,  even  in  that  supreme 
moment. 

"  So  I  fixed  it  at  sixpence  each,  and  handed 
over  the  cash.  Whereupon  a  kind  of  mitigated 
and  chastened  second-class  joy  pervaded  the 
wooden  countenances  of  the  three  pensioners,  as 
each  man  of  them  mentally  expressed  his  acquisi- 
tion in  terms  of  black  twist  tobacco. 

"  Then  I  explained  all  over  again  how  So- 
phronia and  I  desired  to  be  married,  and  needed 
three  witnesses  to  do  it  in  style. 

"  '  Of  course,'  I  said,  '  we  could  have  any  one 
we  wanted  for  witnesses.  We  are  not  making 
any  secret  of  our  matrimonial  intentions.  Don't 


THE    HONOURABLE   SOPHRONIA. 


IT/ 


imagine  that ! '  For  I  thought  if  they  had  any 
idea  that  there  was  secrecy  in  the  matter,  they 
might  strike  for  more  pay,  or  even  blackmail  us 
afterwards. 

"  So  I  waved  my  hand  towards  the  city. 

"  '  No/  I  said,  '  we  merely  came  up  to  the 
Calton  by  our  Doctor's  orders,  because  it  is  a 
quiet  and  healthy  place  to  get  married! ' 

"  Then  Sophronia  and  I  solemnly  declared 
that  we  were  man  and  wife  according  to  the 
formula,  and  the  pensioners  retired  with  their 
sixpences." 

"  Did  you  kiss  her?  "  asked  the  Hempie  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Kiss  her?  No.  What  in  the  name  of  for- 
tune would  I  want  to  be  kissing  her  then?  Were 
we  not  man  and  wife?  " 

"  Of  course — I  forgot !  "  said  the  Hempie, 
much  subdued  by  her  blunder. 

But  immediately  a  new  horror  struck  her. 

"  THEN  YOU  ARE  A  MARRIED  MAN  ! "  she  cried, 
in  sudden  consternation,  leaping  to  her  feet. 

"  HOW  DARE   YOU !  " 

I  winked  at  the  Hempie,  and  shook  my  head. 
But  she  would  not  sit  down. 

"  I  demand  an  explanation,"  she  said,  as  fierce- 
ly as  if  she  had  been  her  own  big  brother. 

I  will  admit  there  were  elements  of  difficulty 


Il8  LADS'   LOVE. 

in  the  situation.  But  nevertheless  I  was  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"  She  can  never  bring  me  up  for  it,  at  any 
rate,"  I  said  boldly. 

"How's  that?"  said  the  Hempie. 

"  Just  because  the  three  pensioners  never 
heard  a  word  we  said.  I  kenned  from  the  first 
that  they  were  a'  as  deaf  as  posts!  " 

"  But  if  she  takes  ye  up  to  the  Court  before 
her  father,  what  will  ye  swear  that  ye  said  to  the 
pensioners  when  ye  were  marrying  her?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  I  carelessly,  "  I'll  just  say  that  I 
was  remarking  that  it  was  a  bonny  day  and  a  fine 
view!  " 

A  pebble  from  the  Hempie's  deft  knuckle 
touched  up  the  frog  at  this  moment.  He  sprang 
into  the  air  spasmodically  and  dropped  plump 
into  the  well.  It  was  his  fate,  and  the  pity  was 
that  he  could  not  romance  himself  out  of  his 
difficulty  so  readily  as  I.  For  you  see,  he  was 
only  a  frog  and  had  never  been  a  year  at  college. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    SQUARING    OF   THE    HEMPIE. 

For  reasons,  therefore,  which  will  now  com- 
mend themselves  to  the  meanest  capacity,  it 
would  not  do  for  me  to  quarrel  with  the  Hempie. 
I  knew  well  the  penetrating  nature  of  her  detec- 
tive researches.  I  had  suffered  under  the  lash 
of  her  tongue.  And  only  those  who  have  experi- 
enced it  know  how  biting  and  merciless  the  truth 
can  be  when  spoken  by  a  wild,  helter-skelter  lass 
of  fifteen. 

The  tale  of  the  Lady  Sophronia  was  only  one 
of  many,  mostly  of  the  same  class  of  pure,  health- 
ful, untrammelled  fiction,  but  with  here  and  there 
such  grains  of  truth  in  the  mass  as  might  prove 
exceedingly  inconvenient — if  (as  was  quite  possi- 
ble) the  Hempie  should  "  split,"  and  I  be  called 
upon  to  answer  for  my  somewhat  variegated  past 
before  the  tribunal  of  my  new  sweetheart  Nance. 

There  was,  for  instance,  the  improving  tale  of 

the  Professor's  daughter  (my  own  favourite)  who 

119 


12Q  LADS'   LOVE. 

was  so  enamoured  with  my  charms  as  to  supply 
me  regularly  with  proofs  before  letters  of  her 
father's  final  examination  papers — which,  of 
course,  I  was  too  noble  to  take  advantage  of  my- 
self (that  is,  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  expression  on 
the  Hempie's  face).  But  I  went  on  to  tell  how 
I  stayed  away  from  the  examination,  and  gave  the 
benefit  of  the  treasure-trove  of  affection  to  a 
poor  lame  boy,  whose  mother  took  in  washing. 
He  came  out  fifty-sixth,  and  called  me  a  blamed 
fool  the  morning  after.  I  had,  it  seemed,  supplied 
him  with  drafts  of  old  examination  papers  taken 
from  a  University  calendar  of  ten  years  ago. 
This  broke  up  the  fair  edifice  of  our  mutual  loves. 
How  can  affection  exist  without  confidence?  All 
was  over  between  us  from  that  moment.  I  told 
the  Professor's  daughter  so  when  next  I  saw  her, 
and  she  said,  "  Let  me  see,  what  is  your  name? 
I  see  so  many  funny  boys  that  I  declare  I  cannot 
tell  one  from  the  other." 

The  Hempie  did  not  care  much  about  this 
tale.  She  always  liked  me  to  win.  But,  for  the 
sake  of  my  own  self-respect,  I  had  to  have  a 
change  sometimes.  Then,  in  addition  to  these, 
there  was  the  tale  of  the  landlady's  beautiful 
daughter,  who,  all  unbeknowns,  feather-stitched 
my  under-garments  in  red  silk,  and  brought  in 
coals  three  times  in  the  course  of  one  evening. 


THE  SQUARING  OF   THE   HEMPIE.  121 

We  lived  in  paradise  till  her  mother  found  it  out 
and  cracked  her  over  the  head  with  the  coal- 
shovel.  I  recalled  also  the  art-student  whose 
easel  I  carried  home  every  day  from  the  gallery 
on  the  Mound,  and  whom  I  loved  with  a  wild, 
mad  love,  till  in  an  evil  hour  she  asked  me  to  go 
and  see  her  pictures.  Our  love-tale  stopped  pre- 
cisely at  4  P.  M.  on  that  day  after  I  had  looked 
at  the  third.  There  was  also  the  fair  unknown 
who  stopped  her  carriage  and  pair  at  the  park 
entrance,  and  asked  me  to  drive  with  her  round 
the  Queen's  Drive,  afterwards  pressing  my  hand 
tenderly,  and  asking  me  to  dinner  in  Royal  Ter- 
race (Leith).  Whereupon  I  promised  faithfully, 
but  went  not,  because  I  had  pawned  my  dress 
suit.  These  and  others  of  equal  merit  and  verac- 
ity were  within  the  Hempie's  knowledge,  and  I 
had  good  reason  to  dread  the  remarkable  accu- 
racy of  her  memory. 

Very  decidedly  I  must  "  square  "  the  Hempie. 
But  ought  I  to  take  a  tender  farewell  of  her, 
according  to  the  ancient  and  approved  fashion, 
and  tell  her  that  I  was  "  ready  to  be  her  friend?  " 
No — after  mature  reflection,  decidedly  not.  I 
could  guess  the  Hempie's  answer  to  that. 

Besides,  how  with  the  best  intentions,  can 
you  take  a  tender  farewell  of  a  young  woman, 
who,  at  your  approach,  flies  off  tangentially  over 


122  LADS'   LOVE. 

pig-styes  and  orchards?     I  have  tried  it,  and  it 
simply  cannot  be  done. 

I  thought  the  matter  over  long  and  carefully, 
devoting  almost  as  much  time  and  serious  con- 
sideration to  the  problem  as  I  did  to  that  other 
of  how  best  to  please  my  sweetheart  Nance.  My 
excellent  father  did  not,  I  fear,  derive  much  bene- 
fit from  my  labours  about  this  time.  And  had 
it  not  been  for  the  sympathetic  consideration  of 
the  farm-servants,  male  and  female,  about  Drum- 
quhat — who  were  all  intimately  acquainted  with, 
and  deeply  interested  in,  the  game  "  our  young 
Alec  "  was  playing,  many  a  time  my  share  of  the 
work  upon  the  farm  of  Drumquhat  would  have 
remained  undone  for  ever.  But  somehow  or  other 
the  cattle  were  foddered,  horses  were  suppered, 
sheep  were  looked,  harness  was  cleaned,  and  the 
necessary  lies  told — all  as  by  some  benignant 
Brownie.  And  thus  in  my  absence  my  share  of 
the  work  at  Drumquhat  was  far  more  consci- 
entiously done  than  in  my  stray  blinks  of  fitful, 
absent-minded  presence.  For  the  Scottish  serv- 
ing-lad has  many  faults  and  failings,  but  there  is 
no  such  second  or  confidant  in  a  love  campaign 
to  be  found  anywhere  the  world  over.  He  will 
cheerfully  give  his  days  and  nights  to  cloak  a 
comrade's  love-errand.  He  will  abnegate  himself 
most  austerely,  denying  alike  home  pleasures  and 


THE   SQUARING   OF   THE   HEMPIE.  123 

public-houses.  He  will  immolate  himself  readily 
and  without  a  thought  upon  friendship's  altar, 
tramping  miles  after  a  weary  day's  work  in  order 
to  attract  temporarily  the  attention  of  a  sus- 
picious mother  or  to  occupy  the  yet  more  fatal 
loquacious,  spoil-sport  father.  Thus  it  was  that 
I  could  so  successfully  leave  my  work  at  Drum- 
quhat,  and  haunt  the  precincts  of  Nether  Neuk, 
as  regularly  and  pertinaciously  as  if  I  had  been 
one  of  Grace  the  Henwife's  brown-speckled  barn- 
door fowls. 

But  through  all  the  matter  of  my  quarrel  with 
the  Hempie  continued  to  trouble  me. 

At  last  I  had  it — I  would  repent.  This  was  a 
state  of  mind  so  unknown,  and,  therefore,  so  in- 
conceivable to  the  Hempie,  that  I  was  certain  it 
could  not  fail  to  impress  her  with  respect,  if  not 
with  esteem. 

So,  early  one  summer  evening  I  leaped  cau- 
tiously over  the  march-dyke  from  the  Hill  of 
Drumquhat,  where,  theoretically  at  least,  I  was 
engaged  in  "looking  the  sheep" — that  is,  number- 
ing them  and  seeing  that  none  had  strayed,  fallen 
into  moss-holes,  "  gone  visiting,"  or  been  trou- 
bled with  "  mawks."  I  had,  however,  on  this  oc- 
casion committed  the  entire  flock  wholesale  to  a 
kind  Providence,  and  now  I  made  my  way  down 
the  dyke-side  to  the  well  of  Nether  Neuk,  sitting 


124 


LADS'  LOVE. 


beside  which  I  had  in  former  times  told  so  many 
wonderful  tales  to  the  Hempie. 

Here  I  waited,  with  my  legs  hanging 
down  over  the  kerb.  But  not  in  the  old,  self- 
sufficient,  careless  way.  No;  my  nether  limbs 
were  disposed  so  as  to  express  the  abandonment 
of  grief — wide  at  the  knees,  so  that  in  time  of 
need  my  elbows  could  rest  upon  them,  while  I 
was  making  up  my  mind  whether  life  were  worth 
living  or  not;  then  drawn  close  at  the  feet  with 
a  lax  droop,  heels  out,  toes  turned  in  and  touch- 
ing each  other.  My  broad  blue  bonnet  had  fallen 
aside.  My  face  was  buried  in  my  hands.  My 
whole  body  was  shaken  with  sobs — that  is,  as 
soon  as  I  heard  the  Hempie  approaching.  I 
knew  without  looking  that  it  must  be  the  Hem- 
pie,  for  Nance  was  with  her  father  at  the  market 
of  Cairn  Edward,  and  Grace  was  busy,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  chance  swain,  in  turning  the 
cheese  upon  the  dairy  shelves. 

The  Hempie  came  down  the  green  loaning, 
singing,  an  empty  can  in  one  hand,  the  other  set 
jauntily  on  her  hip:  "  With  a  tra-la-la,  brave  boys, 
with  a  tra-la-la-a  !  " 

At  sight  of  me  the  Hempie's  gallant  burst  of 
song  tailed  off  into  a  long  diminishing  la-a-a  ex- 
actly like  the  conclusion  of  a  performance  on  the 
bagpipes,  when  the  drones  wail  for  a  moment 


THE   SQUARING  OF   THE    HEMPIE.  125 

querulously  and  exhaustedly  as  the  piper  unships 
the  bag  from  under  his  arm,  and,  as  it  were, 
shakes  the  dregs  of  the  tune  out  of  them. 

Even  thus  ignominiously  sank  the  Hempie's 
song.  Her  water-can,  raffishly  a-dangle  at  her 
side,  its  handle  clinking  to  the  gay,  marching 
music,  dropped  limp  and  silent.  She  lifted  the 
brimless  old  hat  (which  was  the  Hempie's  ordi- 
nary headgear,  to  show  that  she  was  not  proud) 
from  its  impudent  perch  on  the  back  of  the  head, 
and  arranged  it  as  demurely  as  possible  low  upon 
her  brow,  as  if  she  had  been  nearing  the  kirk 
door. 

She  looked  uncertainly  at  me,  but,  of  course, 
I  was  all  unaware  of  her  presence.  Sorrow,  sad 
mistress,  had  uncontrolled  possession  of  my  soul. 
I  was  deaf  to  all  the  world  beside. 

The  Hempie  was -definitely  impressed,  and  I 
think  she  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  me 
there  and  then — even  asking  what  was  the  matter 
with  me.  But,  like  a  blight,  I  felt  rather  than 
saw  the  fatal  seed  of  distrust  take  root  and  grow 
up  in  her  mind.  The  Hempie  knew  me  of  old. 
After  all,  I  might  only  be  "  playing  pretending." 

"  Humph!  "  snorted  the  Hempie,  contemptu- 
ously, and  stooped  with  her  empty  can  over  the 
well-mouth.  All  the  time  she  was  filling  it,  I 
could  feel  her  eyes  piercing  through  me.  But  I 


126  LADS'   LOVE. 

had  nothing  to  fear.  Grief,  though  I  say  it  my- 
self, was  never  better  expressed.  Nevertheless, 
my  character  was  such  that  the  better  I  acted,  the 
less  I  was  believed.  It  was  difficult  to  grow  the 
flower  of  confidence  upon  a  sub-soil  of  distrust, 
top-dressed  with  bitter  experience.  So,  at  least, 
thought  the  Hempie. 

She  paused,  looked  long  at  me,  and  finally 
decided  that  I  was  not  to  be  trusted.  I  had  told 
one  tale  too  many. 

"  Humph!  "  she  exploded  again,  more  con- 
temptuously than  before.  "  Think  you  are  michty 
clever,  Mister  Alexander  McQuhirr  of  Drum- 
quhat,  student!  " 

And  with  these  words  she  lifted  her  can  and 
marched  haughtily  away.  Then,  indeed,  I  felt 
the  full  bitter  loneliness  of  my  defeat,  and,  my 
imagination  working  handsomely,  real  tears  rose 
in  my  eyes.  I  looked  up  at  the  Hempie  as  she 
passed.  By  another  special  dispensation,  at  that 
moment  the  Hempie  was  taking  a  last  look  at 
me.  And  the  timeously  providential  tears  smote 
her  fair  and  square,  and  as  it  were  knocked  the 
unbelief  out  of  her  at  one  blow.  She  paused, 
aghast.  The  terror  of  the  unknown  paralysed 
her.  My  battle  was  won,  if  I  could  only  hold  on 
for  a  minute,  and  the  tears  behaved  themselves. 
Yet  such  are  the  evil  fates,  that  I  felt  as  much  in- 


THE  SQUARING  OF  THE   HEMPIE.  127 

clined  to  laugh,  as  I  had  once  done  in  church 
when  a  psalm-book  fell  from  the  gallery  upon 
the  bald  head  of  our  leading  elder.  But  on 
this  much  graver  occasion  I  held  on  manfully 
— choking  down  the  mirth  successfully — drown- 
ing it,  so  to  speak,  in  the  bitter  waters  of  sor- 
row. 

Had  I,  upon  her  approach,  put  out  my  tongue, 
jeered  at  her,  defied  her,  even  thrown  a  stone  at 
her,  the  Hempie  would  have  returned  me  the 
answer  in  kind,  with  usury  thereto — aye,  and  been 
glad  of  the  chance. 

But  grief  and  tears  were,  in  mankind  at  least, 
unknown  to  the  Hempie.  Her  nerves  were 
shaken. 

Suddenly  something  leaped  with  a  splash 
within  the  can  of  water  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried,  and  let  the  can  drop  bodily. 
It  spilled  its  contents  out  upon  the  grass,  includ- 
ing the  frog,  and  then  slowly  rolled  down  the 
brae.  I  sank  my  head  again  into  my  hands,  and 
my  whole  frame  was  shaken.  It  was  miles  better 
than  the  hymn-book.  Yet  I  commanded  myself, 
for  I  was  risking  all,  and  that  on  the  very  lip  of 
success. 

The  Hempie  came  back,  bowed  herself  down 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  my  face,  then  put  her  hands 
on  my  shoulders;  but  not  in  the  way  of  love. 


128  LADS'   LOVE. 

She  shook  me  roughly,  untenderly,  almost  indig- 
nantly. 

"What  in  the  world's  the  maitter,  Alec?" 
she  cried.  "  Stop  it,  dy'e  hear  me!  " 

Even  so  had  she  heard  Grace  the  stolid,  stay- 
ing the  occasional  hysterics  of  her  more  highly- 
strung  sister  Nance. 

I  made  no  answer  in  words.  A  stiller  and  yet 
more  impressive  melancholy  took  possession  of 
me.  I  managed  to  control  myself  in  this  alien- 
presence;  but  it  was  manifestly  only  by  a  power- 
ful effort  of  will,  and,  as  it  were,  for  the  time 
being.  I  smiled  waterily;  then  I  looked  hard  at 
the  can  as  if  I  hoped  she  would  soon  go  away  and 
leave  me  alone. 

"  Alec!  "  The  Hempie  returned  to  the  attack, 
"  stop  it — I'll  gang  and  bring  my  faither  to  ye 
if  ye  dinna  stop!  " 

This  she  said,  knowing  well  that  not  for  two 
hours  would  Peter  Chrystie's  face  be  seen  at 
Nether  Neuk,  and  then  only  transitorily,  en  route 
to  his  bed. 

Still  I  remained  obdurate.  Upon  which,  quick 
as  a  glass  breaking,  the  Hempie  dropped  coer- 
cion and  assumed  the  weapons  more  proper  to 
her  sex. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Alec,"  she  said,  almost  plead- 
ingly. "  You  will  speak  to  me  ?  " 


THE  SQUARING  OF   THE   HEMPIE. 

I  looked  at  her  slowly,  fixedly,  and  then  as 
slowly  shook  my  head. 

"What  is  it?    Oh,  Alec,  tell  me!" 

"  Good-bye,  Hempie,"  I  said  hoarsely,  and 
with  difficulty,  "  I  ken  I  have  not  treated  ye  weel. 
But  ye'll  maybe  forgi'e  me — after,  ye  ken — when 
— when  they  bring  you  the  news!  " 

"  Oh,  Alec,  what  for  do  ye  speak  like  that? 
What  news?  Ye  are  no  gaun  to  do  ony thing 
rash?" 

Again  I  shook  my  head,  slowly  and  mourn- 
fully. 

"  What  else  can  I  do?  "  I  said,  with  a  sigh 
which  seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  the 
well,  so  deep  it  was,  so  soaked  and  water-logged 
with  misery. 

"But  tell  me — tell  your  Hempie!"  This 
coaxingly,  so  that  I  felt  a  very  brute — as  I  was. 
"  Can  nocht  be  done?  " 

Again  I  shook  my  head. 

"  Is  it— is  it  Nance?  " 

It  cost  the  Hempie  all  her  pride  to  articu- 
late the  query.  She  did  it  like  taking  medi- 
cine. 

I  was  silent,  looking  gravely  at  the  frog  as  he 
hopped  away,  a  sadder  and  wiser  amphibian. 

"My  certes!"  she 'exclaimed,  suddenly  kin- 
dling, "  if  that  besome  plays  at  jookery-packery  wi' 


130 


LADS'   LOVE. 


you  as  she  did  wi'  the  rest,  I'll — I'll  tell  my  faither 
on  her." 

This  was  excellent,  and  I  proceeded  to  drive 
in  the  nails. 

"  Hempie,"  I  said  solemnly,  "  if  I  reveal  a  se- 
cret, ye  will  promise  me  no  to  tell?  " 

The  Hempie  promised,  alert  with  excitement, 
and  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  well,  with 
expectation  shining  on  her  face.  She  took  one 
foot  in  the  opposite  hand,  crossing  the  ankle  over 
her  knee,  according  to  a  pretty  boyish  habit  she 
had — a  relic  of  her  short-skirt  days  not  yet  long 
gone  by. 

"  The  Lady  Sophronia "  I  began  impres- 
sively. 

"What?  She  has  had  the  law  on  ye,  I'll 
wager!  "  cried  the  Hempie,  all  on  fire  in  a  mo- 
ment. "And  her  faither,  the  Earl  o'  Sessions,  is 
to  be  the  judge.  Alexander  McQuhirr  you  are 
clean  done  for  if  he  is." 

"  No,  Hempie,"  I  answered  gravely  and 
mournfully:  "the  Lady  Sophronia — is  dead!" 

"Dead! — dead!"  whispered  the  Hempie,  so 
shocked  that  even  I  (shameless  wretch!)  was  a 
little  ashamed.  "  The  Honourable  Sophronia — 
dead!  Then  she  canna  law-plea  ye!  What  for 
are  ye  vexed  then?  " 

The  Hempie  stated  a  principle  quite  just  in 


THE   SQUARING  OF   THE   HEMPIE.  ^j 

law.  The  Lady  Sophronia  could  not  pursue  for 
bed  and  board  after  she  was  dead,  even  if  her 
father  was  an  Earl  of  Session  and  lived  above  the 
Parliament  House  in  the  city  of  Edinburgh. 

I  leaned  forward  and  touched  the  Hempie  on 
the  arm. 

"  Do  you  no  see?  "  said  I,  with  mystery  in  my 
face. 

"  No,  I  dinna!  "  she  admitted  candidly,  try- 
ing her  best  all  the  same. 

"I  AM  A  WIDOWER!  "    I  said,  and  paused. 

"  Weel,"  said  the  Hempie  encouragingly, 
"  they  canna  jail  ye  for  that!  " 

I  commanded  myself  and  went  on. 

"No,  Hempie,"  I  said,  "that  is  true.  But 
you  do  no  see  that,  being  a  widower,  I'll  hae  to 
wear  black." 

"  And  what  o'  that,"  said  the  Hempie;  "  what 
need  ye  put  an  end  to  yoursel'  for  that?  The 
minister  wears  black  every  day  o'  the  week — and 
gets  fatter  on  it  a'  the  time!  " 

"  But  you  forget,  Hempie,  that  if  I  wear 
black,  Nance  will  ken  what  it  is  for — and  ye  ken 
she  has  sworn  never  to  mairry  a  widower  !  " 

"  I  ken  that,"  said  the  Hempie,  finger  on  lip, 
considering.  Then  she  reached  over  to  me  and 
whispered  impressively,  "  But  there  is  no  need  to 
wear  the  crape  on  your  coat.  Wear  a  black  band 


132  LADS'  LOVE. 

on  the  sleeve  o'  your  sark.  Or  mark  it  wi'  ink  on 
your  arm  below  the  oxter — it  will  easy  wash  off. 
I  ha'e  striped  my  legs  in  rings  mony  a  time  frae 
tap  to  bottom." 

I  leaped  to  my  feet,  and  clasped  the  Hempie 
gratefully  by  the  hand. 

"  Hempie,"  cried  I,  "  ye  are  a  great  gen- 
ius! " 

"  Oh — no  very!  "  she  made  reply,  waving  her 
hand  with  the  air  of  modest  merit. 

But  all  the  same  I  could  see  that  she  was  not 
ill-pleased. 

"  And  as  for  Nance,"  she  said,  "  gie  yoursel' 
no  trouble  about  her.  I'll  look  after  Nance.  And 
I'll  tell  ye  what,  when  ye  are  away  in  Edinburgh, 
I'll  see  that  she  doesna'  carry  on  wi'  the  rest  o' 
the  lads  ahint  your  back." 

The  Hempie  nodded,  as  if  this  was  by  no 
means  a  work  of  supererogation  which  she  had 
undertaken. 

"  I'll  keep  my  eye  on  Mistress  Nance,  never 
fear!  "  she  repeated. 

Then  she  looked  up  at  me  with  sudden  sus- 
picion. "  But  you  will  no  be  making  love  to 
ony  mair  professors'  daughters — nor  drawing- 
board  students?  " 

Again  my  record  was  against  me. 

"  No,  Hempie,"  I  replied,  hurt  at  the  bare 


THE    SQUARING   OF   THE    HEMPIE.  133 

suggestion;  "how  could  I — ye  forget;  I'll  be  in 
mourning!  " 

•     "Oh,  of  course;    I   forgot  that!"   said  the 
Hempie,  entirely  satisfied. 

It  was  in  this  fashion,  surely  an  original  one, 
that  I  made  it  up  with  the  Hempie.  Could  any 
man  have  done  it  better? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  VVATER-OF-DEE    PEARLS. 

But  the  Hempie's  father — and  Nance's,  was 
quite  another  field  to  plough  and  harrow.  Nance 
and  I  talked  over  our  engagement — not  by  the 
well  where  I  used  to  meet  the  Hempie.  That 
was  too  open  and  unconcealed  for  Nance,  who 
knew  that  stray  suitors  with  jealous  eyes  were 
always  wandering  about  Nether  Neuk.  So  we 
met  under  the  pear-tree  in  the  orchard,  because 
at  that  spot  the  shade  was  deepest,  and  there  was 
the  knowingest  crooked  seat  (for  one)  in  the 
crotch  where  the  broad  lowest  bough  pushed 
itself  out  at  right  angles  to  the  gnarled  trunk. 

Here  Nance  and  I  met  one  dear  June  twi- 
light. 

We  were  quite  safe,  for  Peter  Chrystie  was 
away  spending  the  evening  with  the  Laird  of 
Butterhole  ("  Bargaining  about  me,  so  mind  you 
behave,"  said  Nance  archly).  Furthermore,  I 

had  so  arranged  matters  with  the  Hempie  that 

134 


THE   WATER-OF-DEE   PEARLS. 


135 


we  were  in  no  fear  of  that  athletic  young  lady 
descending  upon  our  heads  on  her  way  westward 
from  the  pig-styes. 

I  had  brought  my  sweetheart  a  ring  which  I 
had  contrived,  as  I  thought,  with  much  skill,  and 
the  making  of  which  had  imperilled  my  whole 
financial  position.  It  was  a  plain  gold  gypsy  ring, 
set  with  misty  Water-of-Dee  pearls,  each  one  of 
which  I  had  fished  for  myself  out  of  the  black 
pools  and  rushing  rapids  of  that  turbulent 
river. 

It  had  just  arrived  that  day  from  the  little 
working  jeweller  in  Edinburgh,  who  had  lodged 
on  the  same  flat  as  myself,  and  divided  the  cost 
of  taking  in  the  Spectator  with  me. 

At  first  Nance  was  delighted — but  in  another 
moment  she  said,  "  But  pearls  mean  tears,  Alec!  " 

Now,  nine  times  out  of  ten  it  is  not  the  least 
use  arguing  with  a  woman  about  her  supersti- 
tions. It  is  better  to  go  off  on  a  side  issue,  a  per- 
sonal one  if  possible,  and  so  take  her  position  in 
flank. 

"  But,  Nance,"  said  I,  "  do  you  know  that  you 
look  prettiest  when  you  cry — or  perhaps,  to  be 
exact,  just  when  you  are  going  to  stop."  For  by 
this  time  I  had  had  one  or  two  opportunities  of 
knowing.  And  no  true  love-affair  can  go  on  long 
without  such. 


136  LADS'   LOVE. 

Nance  smiled,  and  looked  affectionately  at  her 
ring. 

"  Well,  but—"  she  said,  "  I  don't  like  tears 
between  us  two — at  least,  not  often,  and  not  un- 
less /  want  to." 

I  tried  the  other  flank. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  I  said  confidently.  "  You 
see,  these  are  not  common  imported  sea-pearls — 
they  come  out  of  our  own  water  of  Dee.  And, 
what  is  more,  I  waded  for  every  one  myself,  and 
paid  the  tears  for  them  on  the  spot,  when  the 
edges  of  the  shells  cut  my  feet." 

Nance  looked  at  the  ring,  with  her  head  first 
on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other. 

"  Of  course  I  could  not  wear  it,"  she  mur- 
mured wistfully,  after  deep  consideration. 

"  But  why  not?  "  I  said;  though  I  knew. 

"  My  father !  "  she  began. 

"  Tut,  Nance,"  I  replied,  "  you  are  not  often 
within  sight  of  your  father." 

"  No,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  it  is  not  exactly 
that.  But  if  I  wore  it,  he  would  soon  hear.  You 
see,  they  talk  a  good  deal  about  me  in  this  parish. 
At  least,  the  lads  do." 

"  And  the  lasses  are  jealous — and  they  speak 
too?  "  I  queried. 

Nance  sighed  and  raised  her  eyes  demurely. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  a  bit  why  they  should 


THE  WATER-OF-DEE   PEARLS.  137 

be  jealous  of  me,"  she  said;  "  but  after  all,  I  could 
wear  it  on  a  chain  round  my  neck,  couldn't  I — 
that  is,  if  I  had  a  chain." 

"  You  shall  have  one,  Nance,"  I  cried  reck- 
lessly. (No  dinner  for  two  months,  even  getting 
it  cost  price  from  my  little  jeweller!) 

"  Oh,  will  I?  "  said  Nance,  clasping  her  hands 
ecstatically.  Then  she  informed  me  solemnly 
that  I,  Alec  McQuhirr,  was  most  certainly  a 
sweet  thing  and But  why  continue? 

So  it  was  arranged  that  my  lass  should  wear 
her  engagement  ring  round  her  neck — a  decision 
which  seemed  somehow  to  relieve  her  mightily. 

"  You  had  better  keep  it  for  me  till  you  get 
the  chain,"  said  Nance  suddenly,  as  if  she  had  re- 
membered something  all  at  once.  "  I  have  no 
pocket  in  this  dress." 

Now,  this  is  a  thing  eternally  incomprehensi- 
ble to  a  man,  who,  whether  he  is  rigged  out  in 
Whinnyliggate  by  Tailor  Byron  or  has  his  clothes 
made  in  George  Street,  has  but  one  idea  of  a  com- 
fortable coat — that  is,  a  panoply  of  pockets,  with 
just  as  much  foundational  fabric  as  will  serve  to 
connect  them  together.  But  I  repeat  the  state- 
ment as  Nance  made  it  to  me,  and  from  what 
followed  immediately,  I  have  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve in  its  truth. 

I  slipped  off  my  tie.     It  was  a  thin  strip  of 


138 


LADS'   LOVE. 


fine  silk  of  a  light  blue.  I  knotted  the  ring  into 
it,  tied  the  ends  in  a  bow,  and  gave  it  back  to 
Nance. 

"Wear  that  under  your  dress,  sweetheart!" 
said  I.  "  It  would  not  be  lucky  to  take  back  our 
engagement  ring." 

Very  daintily  and  carefully  Nance  set  the  rib- 
band of  blue  about  her  neck.  I  saw  her  fingers 
tremble  as  she  undid  the  top  button  of  her  bodice 
to  slip  in  the  ring,  blushing  and  looking  down  at 
the  ground  most  bewitchingly  as  she  did  it. 

But  as  she  gave  her  head  a  little  shake  to  set- 
tle the  ribbon  lower  on  her  neck,  it  so  chanced 
that  I  caught  the  thin  gleam  of  a  golden  chain. 

"  Why,  Nance,  you  have  a  gold  chain  on — 
and  you  never  told  me.  Why  did  you  not  put  the 
ring  on  that?" 

Instantly  my  jealousy  was  aroused.  The 
manifold  hints  of  the  Hempie  as  to  Nance's  trust- 
worthiness had  fallen  into  all  too  fruitful  soil. 

"  Nance,"  I  said  sternly,  "  I  insist  upon  see- 
ing what  is  on  that  chain  which  you  wear  about 
your  neck." 

My  only  excuse  is  that  at  the  time  I  was  very 
young,  and  did  not  know  enough  to  take  what- 
ever the  gods  might  send  without  asking  ques- 
tions. I  have  learned  my  lesson  now. 

Had  I  possessed  the  generosity  of  a  Jew  ped- 


THE  WATER-OF-DEE   PEARLS. 


139 


lar  or  the  observation  of  a  stable  lout,  I  might 
have  seen  that  my  little  sweetheart  was  suffering 
most  piteously,  and  that,  had  I  gone  about  it  in 
the  right  way,  she  would  have  denied  me  nothing. 

"  Insist  is  not  a  word  any  one  has  ever  used 
to  Nance  Chrystie,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  but 
all  the  same  looking  at  me  with  a  new  light  in  her 
eyes,  quite  different  from  that  which  I  had  seen 
there  the  night  when  I  angered  her  by  coming  in 
at  the  French  window. 

"  But  I  do  insist! "  I  repeated,  for  I  had  be- 
come perfectly  insane  in  my  headstrong  folly; 
"  and,  what  is  more,  I  have  every  right  to  know." 

"  Then  you  shall  know!  " 

She  flashed  her  hand  into  her  bosom  and 
brought  out  a  chain  with  not  less  than  a  bundle 
of  trinkets  hung  upon  it.  There  were  five  or  six 
rings,  three  lockets,  two  halves  of  sixpences,  and 
one  whole  crooked  one. 

Nance  had  undone  the  clasp  of  the  gold  chain 
like  lightning,  and  gave  me  the  whole  into  my 
hand.  We  were  both  standing  up  now  by  the 
pear-tree.  I  could  see  that  she  was  very  white 
and  red,  and  hear  that  she  was  breathing  very 
quickly,  with  her  lips  a  little  parted. 

"  There  they  are,"  she  said.  "  Now,  Alec, 
what  do  you  make  of  them  when  you  have 
them?  " 


140  LADS'   LOVE, 

"  That  depends,"  said  I,  mighty  grave,  "  on 
what  you  call  them,  Nance." 

"  I  call  them  my  property!  "  she  said  defiant- 
ly, flashing  one  look  at  me. 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you?  "  I  said,  looking 
down  at  them. 

She  stirred  them  a  little  contemptuously  with 
her  fore-finger,  as  if  the  pile  of  trinketry  had  been 
a  nasty  medicine  which  she  wished  to  melt  thor- 
oughly before  taking. 

"  I  forget,"  she  said,  lightly  tossing  her  head. 
"  There  are  too  many  of  them  to  remember." 

"  And  pray,  Mistress  Nance,"  I  said,  "  how 
long  will  it  be  before  my  love-token  takes  its 
place  among  the  others,  and  you  '  forget '  about 
Alec  McQuhirr?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  yourself.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  take  your  ring  back  now?  " 

"  We  will  see  about  that  later!  "  I  said.  "  This 
now  "  (I  went  on,  thinking,  poor  fool,  I  was  doing 
bravely) — "  who  might  be  the  giver  of  this  very 
pretty  thing?  " 

I  touched  with  my  finger  a  ring  of  quaint  and 
ancient  device,  which  was  obviously  of  more  value 
than  the  others. 

"  It  was  my  Cousin  Willie  who  left  that  be- 
hind him,  to  remember  him  by  when  he  went  to 
India." 


THE  WATER-OF-DEE   PEARLS. 


141 


"Aha!  "said  I.  "And  this:  was  that  another 
of  your — cousins'?  " 

"It  was,"  answered  Nance;  "it  must  have 
been  either  Edgar  or  Joe — let  me  see!  " 

And  she  paused,  with  her  finger  deep  in  an 
excruciating  dimple  on  her  left  cheek,  knitting 
her  brows  the  while,  as  if  the  problem  were  alto- 
gether too  hard  for  her. 

"And  this  locket;  may  I  open  it?  ...  Yes. 
This  tells  its  own  tale.  Who  is  this  young 
man?  " 

"  He  is  the  elder  brother  of  the  Lady  So- 
phronia!  "  replied  the  minx,  and  thrilled  with 
wicked  laughter. 

Something  very  real  took  me  high  in  the 
throat.  I  was  tricked — deceived.  Even  the 
Hempie — and  I  did  think  I  could  trust  the  Hem- 
pie!  But  after  all,  no  matter. 

I  crushed  the  chain  and  its  appendages  in  my 
hand  and  flung  them  from  me  fiercely,  far  over 
the  orchard  wall  into  the  grass  of  the  meadow. 

"There!"  I  cried,  "I  have  done  with  you, 
Nance  Chrystie.  I  decline  to  be  one  among  a 
dozen — cousins  or  other.  I  need  a  heart  to  mate 
with  mine,  a  heart  that  will  be  true  as  mine  is 
true,  single  as  mine  is  single!  " 

I  thought  this  was  rather  fine;  but  Nance 
spoilt  it. 


1 42  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried  lightly,  "  it  is  not  the  single 
hearts  that  I  object  to,  but  the  widowed  ones." 

I  was  too  angry  to  take  any  notice  of  her 
taunting  words. 

"I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  good-bye!" 
I  said  grandly. 

I  wished  afterwards  I  had  had  the  courage  to 
say  "  farewell  "  instead,  but  I  knew  Nance  would 
laugh. 

"  Pray,  Sir  Singleheart,  do  not  go  without 
your  property!  "  mocked  the  pretty  vixen.  And 
she  made  me  a  low  curtsey  and  handed  me  back 
my  ribbon  and  ring. 

"  You  will  find  it,  like  your  widowed  heart, 
not  so  very  much  the  worse  for  my  brief  wearing 
of  it!" 

She  turned  and  tripped  away,  leaving  me 
standing,  gazing  like  a  pitiful  ninny  at  the  ribbon 
in  my  hand.  Then  I  took  both  the  ring  and  the 
silken  tie  and  threw  them  after  the  others,  as  far 
as  I  could  into  the  meadow. 


You  willjlnd  it,  like  your  widowed  heart,  not  much  the  worse  for  my 
wearing  of  it." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MY    OTHER    SWEETHEART. 

How  I  reached  Drumquhat  I  do  not  know. 
I  only  remember  that  I  found  myself,  somehow, 
in  the  stable  suppering  the  horses,  side  by  side 
with  Gib  M'Whulter,  our  serving-man.  He 
looked  up  in  astonishment  at  my  early  return. 

"  What's  wrang,  laddie,  that  ye  hae  through 
wi'  your  courtin'  already?  " 

My  heart  was  too  full,  my  wounds  too  recent, 
for  me  to  answer.  I  went  sullenly  on  with  my 
work. 

"  Aweel,"  said  Gib  philosophically,  "  since  ye 
are  here,  e'en  gie  the  horse  graith  a  bit  polish, 
and  I'll  gang  ower  by  and  tak'  a  turn  at  the 
hizzies  mysel' !  " 

A  sort  of  dazed  numbness  took  hold  of  me. 
It  was  as  though  my  head  had  been  cut  through 
at  the  neck  with  an  exceedingly  sharp  knife,  and 
I  would  not  find  it  out  till  I  sneezed. 

Yet  this  very  lack  of  ordinary  feeling  enabled 
143 


144 


LADS'   LOVE. 


me  in  some  fashion  to  get  through  the  evening. 
I  went  into  the  kitchen  and  got  a  book  to  read. 
Then  I  sat  down  with  my  back  to  the  light — 
more  to  escape  the  eyes  of  my  mother  (which 
seemed  to  fill  the  house,  and  reach  some  way 
across  the  yard)  than  to  get  the  light  upon  the 
page.  Indeed,  I  never  even  found  out  what  it 
was  that  I  was  reading.  For  all  the  while  my 
heart  throbbed  out,  "Nance!  Nance!"  And 
mocking  little  fiends  ran  up  and  down  the  lines 
of  print,  skipping  from  one  to  the  other  and 
crying,  "You  are  a  fool,  Alec  M'Quhirr!  You 
are  a  great  fool,  Alec  M'Quhirr!  " 

And  in  my  deepest  heart-deeps,  I  knew  that 
I  was — the  greatest  and  most  foolish  of  fools. 

Then  came  the  almost  unendurable  interlude 
of  the  "  Buik,"  when  the  reverend  voice  of  my 
father,  as  he  read  the  Gospels,  and  sent  sonor- 
ously up  the  evening  sacrifice  of  family  petition, 
seemed  to  me  a  thousand  miles  away — like  a  voice 
speaking  unintelligible  words  far  out  on  the  con- 
fines of  space.  Immediately  after  we  had  risen 
from  our  knees,  I  escaped  to  the  little  gable  room 
over  the  peat-shed  in  which  I  slept. 

My  mother  came  up  to  bid  me  good-night, 
and  watched  me  like  a  cat  at  a  mouse-hole  while 
I  answered  "  Yes  "  and  "  No  "  at  random  to  her 
questions  and  gossip.  She  spoke  of  the  new  tune 


MY  OTHER   SWEETHEART. 


145 


the  precentor  had  sung  to  the  hundred-and-third 
psalm  on  Sabbath  morning  at  the  Kirk  on  the 
Hill.  She  was  more  than  doubtful  whether  there 
was  any  scriptural  warrant  for  wantonly  repeat- 
ing the  last  line.  She  spoke  of  my  father's 
thoughtlessness  in  the  matter  of  putting  on  clean 
socks. 

Suddenly  I  grew  conscious  that  her  eyes  had 
become  fixed  in  her  head.  She  was  gazing  di- 
rectly at  my  neck. 

"  What's  come  o'  the  blue  silk  tie  that  ye  gaed 
oot  wi'  the  nicht,  Alec?  "  she  cried. 

I  had  the  lie  ready.  It  crouched  immediately 
behind  my  teeth;  but  I  tell  you  what — I  could 
not  speak  it  to  my  mother.  So  I  was  silent. 

"  Did  ye  loss  it,  Alec?  "  she  said,  bending  her 
face  a  little  nearer  to  look.  It  was  nearly  out 
that  time.  And  it  would  have  been  a  good  lie — 
a  serviceable  lie.  But  just  then  I  caught  sight  of 
the  webbed  and  netted  crows'-feet  about  my 
mother's  eyes,  and  the  lie  went  back  to  its  own 
place  like  a  Jack-in-the-box.  The  lid  was  shut 
upon  it  with  a  clang,  too. 

"  Did  ye  loss  it,  Alec?  "  my  mother  repeated 
more  gently. 

("  O  Lord,  if  only  she  would  be  angry,  and 
rage  at  me!  ") 


146  LADS'    LOVE. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  didna  loss  it,  mither! " 

I  suppose  I  spoke  sullenly,  in  that  native  Scots 
which  can  sound  so  dour  and  hard.  But  my 
heart  within  me  was  not  sullen.  Whenever  my 
mother  spoke  to  me  like  that,  I  became  at  once 
about  six  years  of  my  age.  And  there  is  nothing 
that  twenty-one  resents  more. 

"  Did  ye  gie  it  away?  " 

There  was  silence  in  the  garret.  I  lost  sight 
of  the  crows'-feet.  I  saw  instead  that  my  moth- 
er's eyes  were  of  a  faded  and  cloudy  blue,  and 
her  heart  seemed  so  close  under  them  that  I 
actually  saw  them  ache. 

"  Aye,"  I  said  slowly,  the  words  driven  out  of 
me,  "  I  gied  it  awa',  mither!  " 

"  To  Nance  Chrystie?  " 

"Aye!" 

My  mother's  underlip  began  to  "  wicker,"  as 
we  used  to  say  at  school — the  sort  of  trembling 
that  you  cannot  stop  when  you  will. 

O,  if  she  would  only  strike  me.  What  a  piti- 
less thing  a  mother  is!  I  wanted  to  cry  out  and 
stamp.  If  I  had  not  been  brought  up  a  Cam- 
eronian  I  would  have  sworn  at  my  mother,  and 
had  to  answer  for  it  on  the  Judgment  Day. 

As  it  was,  I  only  nodded. 

There  was  a  full  century's  silence  in  the  garret 
over  the  peat-shed.  My  mother  held  the  Drum- 


MY   OTHER   SWEETHEART. 

fern  Standard,  her  favourite  paper  for  deaths  and 
marriages,  folded  broadly  in  her  hand.  I  heard 
something  go  pat-pat  on  it.  I  knew  it  was  not 
raining.  But  I  wished  that  it  had  thundered  and 
that  the  bolt  had  stricken  me. 

"  Oh,  mither,  what  for  do  ye  do  that?  "  I  cried 
at  length.  For  I  was  on  my  knees  beside  her,  try- 
ing to  take  her  thin  fingers. 

But  she  held  me  off  with  one  hand,  while  she 
tried  to  dry  her  eyes  with  her  apron  and  the 
Drumfern  Standard  clutched  together  in  the 
other. 

"  Oh,  it's  richt,  it's  richt!  It's  as  the  guidman 
says.  It  comes  to  every  mither.  But  her  first- 
born son!  It  has  come  a  wee  sudden  on  me, 
Alec.  That's  a'!  Ye  micht  hae  let  me  be  the 
first  wi'  ye  a  while  langer!  " 

"  Mither,  mither,"  I  said,  "  ye  shall  aye  be 
first  wi'  me,  as  lang  as  I  live! " 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  sadly.  And  if 
there  was  a  weary  world-wisdom  in  her  smile, 
there  was  the  wisdom  of  heaven  in  her  eyes — yet 
not  the  wisdom  of  the  angels  who  had  neither 
sinned  or  suffered. 

"And  she  put  it  about  her  neck?"  said  my 
mother,  more  like  one  calling  up  old  memories 
out  of  the  vasty  deep  and  meditating  upon  them, 

than  like  one  who  asks  a  question. 
ii 


1 48  LADS'   LOVE. 

I  said  nothing — for  how  could  I  tell  her  the 
truth. 

"  Well,"  said  my  mother,  at  last,  "  she's  bonny 
eneuch  to  look  upon.  Oh,  I'll  never  deny  that 
she  is  fell  bonny!  " 

Nance  Chrystie  never  in  her  life  had  such  a 
compliment  paid  to  her  beauty  as  those  dozen 
reluctant  words  of  my  mother's,  forced  from  her 
trembling  lips  by  a  sense  of  justice,  stern  as  the 
moral  law  itself. 

"  And  what  did  she  gie  you,  Alec?  Will  ye 
let  me  see  it?  " 

She  spoke  almost  pitifully,  like  one  who  asks 
a  favour  almost  too  great  to  be  thought  upon. 

"Naething!" 

"  Alec,  dinna  lee  to  your  mither!  " 

Again  the  years  passed  on  through  the  garret, 
in  a  remorseless,  ticking  silence — the  ticking  of 
my  own  heart  and  my  mother's  running  races. 
The  two  of  them  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"  There  was  a  ring  on  the  riband,  mither!  " 
I  said  at  last. 

"  A  ring.  Laddie,  where  gat  ye  a  ring?  Ye 
didna  buy  it  wi'  your  college  siller?  " 

"  It  was  juist  yon  Water-o'-Dee  pearls  that  a 
freend  o'  mine  set  for  me!  " 

"  The  Water-o'-Dee  pearls,  Alec!  Laddie,  ye 
telled  me  that  ye  were  keeping  them  for  me — to 


MY   OTHER   SWEETHEART. 


149 


gie  them  to  your  mither  the  day  ye  were  capped 
in  Edinburgh." 

"  Did  I,  mither?  Did  I  say  that?  I  wasna 
minding  that  I  had  said  that !  But  I'll  get  ye  far 
brawer  and  better  anes!  " 

My  mother  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  as  she 
had  often  done  when  her  bairns  were  children. 
The  motion  had  become  habitual  to  her  when  she 
was  in  trouble.  Then  she  checked  herself,  and 
sat  straight  up,  lest  I  should  think  she  was  fret- 
ting. 

"  I  dinna  want  your  pearls,  laddie.  What 
would  the  like  o'  me  do  wi'  pearls?  It  is  better  as 
it  is.  They'll  set  bonnie  young  Nance  Chrystie 
far  better  than  an  auld  done  body  like  me.  Oh, 
I  ken  that." 

"Mither!  Mither!" 

"  Haud  awa' — dinna  touch  me  the  noo.  I'm 
no  greetin',  I  tell  ye.  I  didna  want  the  bit  pearls. 
It  was  juist — juist  that  ye  should  hae  thocht 
yince  o'  gettin'  them  for  me,  and  that  ye  cutted 
your  feet  bringing  them  oot  o'  the  water! " 

If  the  condemned  criminal  suffers  as  I  did 
then,  I  am  in  favour  of  instant  execution,  five 
minutes  after  sentence. 

No,  I  was  not  crying.  How  should  a  man  of 
almost  one-and-twenty  cry  like  a  bairn? 

Then,  when  my  mother  spoke  again,  it  was  in 


ISO 


LADS'   LOVE. 


a  changed  tone — like  one  ashamed,  and  yet  more 
than  half  curious. 

"  And  what  did  she  say  when  ye  gied  the  ring 
to  her?  " 

"  She  gied  it  back  to  me  again! " 

"  Oh,  the  limmer — how  dared  she!  "  cried  my 
mother,  on  fire  instantly  at  the  hint  of  an  insult 
or  rejection  to  her  eldest  son. 

"  It  was  my  fault,  mither — I  quarrelled  her. 
I  angered  her.  I  taunted  her  till  she  did  it." 

"  What  angered  ye,  laddie? — what  did  she  do 
.toye?" 

But  I  was  not  telling  tales  on  Nance  that  jour- 
ney— not  even  to  my  mother. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  I  said;  "  it  was  only  my  own 
ill-nature — my  de'il's  temper." 

"  Were  ye  tauntin'  her  about  haein'  had  ither 
lads?  "  said  my  mother. 

"  How  do  ye  ken  that,  mither?  "  I  cried,  as- 
tonished in  my  turn. 

She  laughed  a  little — a  laugh  I  had  never 
heard  before.  It  seemed  a  young  laugh — the 
laugh  a  lass  laughs  to  a  lad  she  likes  well  when 
they  two  are  all  alone. 

"Ah! — thirty  years!  .  .  .  thirty  years!  .  .  ." 
said  my  mother. 

And  there  was  a  sweet,  sad  light  of  memory 
in  the  misty  eyes  of  blue. 


MY   OTHER   SWEETHEART.  151 

"  Oh,  mither,"  I  said  (I  was  on  my  knees  be- 
side her:  how  I  came  there  I  do  not  know),  "  ye 
are  winsome  yet,  mither.  Ye  maun  hae  been 
bonny  in  your  day."  Then,  with  sudden  contri- 
tion, "Ye  are  bonny  and  winsome  noo!" 

My  hand  was  between  her  two,  and  she  patted 
the  back  of  it  gently  with  the  uppermost. 

"  Alexander,  lad,"  she  said,  still  in  the  young 
voice,  "  I  mind  a  lad  and  a  lass  that  were  fond  o' 
yin  anither,  like  Nance  and  you.  And  he  quar- 
relled her,  and  he  was  prood,  and  she  was  prooder. 
And  he  gaed  awa' — thirty  years  since.  .  .  .  thir- 
ty year!  " 

"Was't  my  faither? "   I  asked. 

"  Na,"  said  my  mother,  drawing  in  her  breath 
quickly,  "  na — no  near  sae  guid  a  man  as  your 
faither.  But  the  lass  was  fond  o'  him — aye:  he 
was  her  first,  ye  see.  And  he  gaed  awa'!  She 
never  saw  him  mair!  " 

I  waited  for  the  rest.    But  there  was  no  more. 

The  wrinkled  hand,  hardened  with  work,  but 
soft  as  silk  when  the  touch  of  love  was  in  it,  went 
on  gently  patting  mine. 

And  I  stroked  my  mother's  hair  as  if  she  had 
been  my  sweetheart.  She  never  let  me  do  that 
before.  I  declare  I  felt  her  lean  her  head  against 
my  hand  as  I  stroked,  just  as  Nance  did. 

"  Gang  back — gang  back  to  her  this  verra 


152 


LADS'  LOVE. 


nicht,  Alec!"  she  cried  earnestly.  "  Dinna  ever 
be  prood  wi'  the  one  ye  love.  She  will  no  be 
prood  wi'  you,  gin  she  lo'es  you.  I'll  wager  she 
is  greetin' — greetin'  sair — the  noo!" 

"  She  was  laughin'  when  she  gaed  awa' ! "  I 
said;  for  my  pride  was  not  all  gone. 

"  I  ken — I  ken,"  said  my  mother.  "  That 
lass,  the  lass  that  I  was  speakin'  aboot,  lauched 
too  as  she  gaed  oot  o'  his  sicht.  But  she  wat 
her  pillow  through  and  through  that  nicht,  before 
ever  she  saw  the  licht  o'  the  dawning — and  the 
boat  that  carried  him  awa'  half  across  the  blue 
Solway." 

She  listened  a  little,  with  her  ear  toward  the 
door. 

"  Put  on  your  coat  and  awa'  wi'  ye.  I'll  let 
ye  in  when  ye  come  back.  Find  the  ring  and  the 
ribband,  and  tak'  them  direct  to  the  lass.  She 
will  be  fell  fond  to  get  them  back,  I  can  assure 
ye.  And  say  first  that  ye  are  vexed  for  what  ye 
said  and  did — tell  her  that.  She'll  no'  be  sleep- 
in',  and  will  rise  wi'  a  licht  heart  to  speak  doon 
to  ye  frae  her  window-sole." 

I  hesitated  still,  for  a  single  moment.  It  was 
not  my  nature  easily  to  give  in. 

"  She  will  be  lyin'  listenin'  for  your  step  corn- 
in'  up  the  loanin',  Alec!" 

My  mother's  voice  pled  like  that  of  a  young 


MY  OTHER  SWEETHEART.  153 

lass  fleeching  with  her  sullen  lover  when  he  is  in 
the  wrong.  She  might  have  been  the  lass  her- 
self. 

My  heart  was  melting  fast.  There  was  no 
more  anger  in  it  anywhere. 

"  The  lass  that  I  was  speakin'  aboot,  listened 
lang.  But  she  never  heard  the  step  she  lo'ed 
better  than  her  ain  soul.  She  prayed,  but  nae 
answer  cam'  but  the  cryin'  o'  the  wild  birds  oot 
on  the  lonely  muir.  Oh,  Alec  lad,  it's  an  awfu' 
thing  to  be  prood  with  them  ye  love! " 

My  mother  helped  me  on  with  my  coat,  and, 
motioning  me  to  walk  behind  her,  she  let  me 
softly  out.  And  on  the  doorstep  she  stooped 
quickly  and  kissed  me,  almost  as  she  had  been 
my  sweetheart.  Then  the  door  shut  to,  all  but 
a  crack,  and  I  knew  that  my  mother's  ear  was  at 
that  crack. 

There  was  a  sudden  feeling  of  intense  cold  in 
the  air.  It  was  my  face  drying  in  the  night  wind. 
It  was  not  dark,  for  at  that  time  of  the  year  the 
days  are  very  long  and  the  skies  very  clear.  I  ran 
rather  than  walked  towards  the  farm-steading 
of  Nether  Neuk.  I  could  easily  have  gone  blind- 
fold, I  knew  the  way  so  well. 

I  reached  the  orchard  wall.  It  was  but  a  low 
stone  dyke,  but  the  gloom  was  dense  among  the 
trees.  As  I  came  near,  something  soft  and  white 


154  LAD'S  LOVE. 

— a  great  owl  most  like — flitted  across  and  was 
lost  in  the  shadow.  I  skirted  the  dyke,  keeping 
wide  from  the  office  houses,  till  I  came  opposite 
to  our  pear-tree.  Here  or  hereabouts  in  the 
meadow  must  be  the  place.  I  stooped  to  my 
search.  My  foot  struck  something  that  jingled. 
It  was  the  chain  which  had  been  about  Nance's 
neck.  The  trinkets  were  still  upon  it. 

Then  the  anger  came  on  me  again,  and  al- 
most I  had  thrown  it  from  me  once  more,  like 
a. poisonous  asp  which  had  power  to  sting  me. 
But  my  mother's  last  words  came  to  me:  "  Be 
nbt  proud  with  those  you  love." 

So  I  stood  with  the  trinketry  in  my  hand,  and 
my  better  soul  came  again  to  me  like  the  for- 
giveness of  a  child.  My  mother  was  certainly 
praying  for  me  at  that  moment. 

"  After  all,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  what  business 
is  it  of  mine?  I  know  she  is  sweet  and  pure  and 
— loves  me.  Of  course,  men  have  loved  her — 
tried  their  best  to  win  her.  And  what  matters 
it  if  she  has  taken  their  gifts  as  she  has  taken  the 
gifts  of  the  summer  air,  the  summer  flowers? 
Right  certainly  she  loves  me  as  she  never  loved 
before.  I  will  go  and  tell  her  that  I  am  sorry. 
I  will  take  back  the  ring  to  her! " 

I  stooped  and  began  to  look  for  the  blue 
ribband  and  the  ring.  I  searched  everywhere, 


MY   OTHER   SWEETHEART.  ^5 

and  in  the  clear,  lingering  light  of  the  west  I 
could  distinguish  every  blade  of  grass. 

The  blue  ribband  and  the  pearl  ring  were  not 
tliere  ! 

But  as  I  skirted  the  dyke-side  I  found  a  small 
shoe,  and  a  flat  stone  had  fallen  from  the  wall 
and  lay  partly  upon  the  top  of  it.  It  was — well, 
I  knew  Nance  Chrystie's  shoe.  But  then  again: 
when  Nance  went  indoors  from  the  pear-tree  she 
had  gone  through,  not  outside  the  orchard. 

Then  she  must  have  been  here  again.  She 
must  have  come  back — of  her  own  accord  she 
must  have  returned  to  the  orchard.  .  .  .  What 
was  the  white  flitting  owl  which  I  saw  as  I  came? 

I  looked  over  the  dyke.  There  was  the  pear- 
tree — and — yes,  something  white  was  settled  low 
in  the  crotch  where  we  two  had  sat. 

I  was  over  the  dyke  in  a  moment,  and  Nance 
— Nance  nestled  in  to  me  with  a  little  frightened 
cry. 

"  Oh,  I  was  afraid,"  she  whispered,  "  so  dread- 
fully afraid.  I  did  not  know  it  was  you,  Alec! 
And  I  dropped  my  shoe." 

I  had  her  by  the  hand.  There  was  a  ring  on 
her  finger — my  ring.  I  felt  the  Water-of-Dee 
pearls. 

She  read  my  thoughts. 

"  Alec,"  she  said,  "  dear  lad,  I  am  sorry  I  was 


156  LADS'  LOVE. 

cross.  I  shall  always  wear  your  ring  there  now. 
I  do  not  care  who  knows — so  long  as  you  love 
me!" 

We  kissed  one  another. 

"And  now,  dearest,  do  you  want  this?"  I 
said,  holding  up  the  gold  chain  with  the  trinkets. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Nance,  "  I  want  it  very 
much!" 

But  before  I  had  time  to  sulk  (I  felt  it  coming 
on),  she  added — 

"  You  see,  they  were  all  my  mother's — I  wear 
them  for  her  sake!  " 

"  NANCE  !  "  I  cried  aloud,  in  wild  astonish- 
ment and  reproach. 

She  nodded  archly  and  a  little  defiantly. 

"Yes,  every  one  of  them!" 

"  And  why  did  you  not  tell  me  at  first?  " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  picking  at  the  ring  on  her 
finger,  "  because  at  first  you  did  not  ask  me  pret- 
tily. You  were  horrid — you  know  you  were!" 

I  knew,  and  said  so  willingly,  humbly. 

There  is  no  more  to  tell  at  this  time.  We 
walked  home — after  a  while — hand  in  hand.  And 
ere  the  French  window  shut  Nance  Chrystie  from 
my  sight — I  knew  what  I  knew. 

My  mother  met  me  at  the  door.  How  she 
heard  me  come  I  know  not. 


MY   OTHER   SWEETHEART. 


157 


"Well?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  all  right !  "  I  whispered. 

My  mother  put  her  hand  on  my  head.  She 
must  have  stood  on  tiptoe  to  do  it,  for  she  was  a 
little  woman.  She  did  not  kiss  me  this  time. 

"The  God  of  Jacob  bless  Nance  and  you!" 
was  all  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  ARGUMENT  OF  NABAL  THE  CHURL. 

One  day  I  had  been  on  the  hills  among  the 
sheep  all  the  morning,  with  my  active  and  cor- 
poreal frame  busy  with  their  oversight  and  sub- 
division, but  all  my  soul  and  three-fourths  of 
my  attention  centred  upon  the  green  bosky 
orchards  and  white  steadings  of  the  farm  of 
Nether  Neuk,  lying  so  snugly  in  the  valley  be- 
neath. 

The  Chrystie's  farm  was  a  far  larger  and  more 
important  one  than  ours.  For  Peter  was  a  very 
wealthy  man,  as  farmers  went  in  our  part  of  the 
country.  His  daughters,  indeed,  took  their  part 
in  indoor  work  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  were 
the  better  for  it,  too.  But  Peter  was  understood 
to  be  only  waiting  for  the  decease  of  his  scape- 
grace laird  (whom  two  generations  of  the  parish 
of  Whinnyliggate  had  known  as  the  Prodigal),  in 
order  to  set  up  as  proprietor  of  Nether  Neuk 

himself.    But  the  Prodigal  of  Whinnyliggate,  like 

158 


THE   ARGUMENT  OF   NABAL  THE   CHURL. 


159 


another  of  the  race,  was  an  unconscionable  time 
a-dying. 

"  Prodigal  here — Prodigal  there!  "  exclaimed 
my  mother,  "  a'  I  ken  is  that  the  craitur  comes 
twice  a  year  and  scrapes  a'  the  siller  he  can  the- 
gither — then  awa'  again  to  spend  it  on  high  livin' 
and  limmers.  But  no  a  sign  o'  ony  repentance. 
Prodigal  indeed!  Faith,  ye  may  weel  say  it!  " 

It  was  popularly  supposed  that  this  unstable 
prop  of  the  landed  interest  was  very  much  on 
Peter  Chrystie's  hands  financially,  and  that,  prac- 
tically speaking,  the  fair  fields  of  Nether  Neuk 
(and  it  might  be  a  farm  or  two  further  up  Loch 
Granoch)  were  as  good  as  Peter's  own,  whenever 
he  liked  to  claim  them.  It  is  small  wonder  then, 
that  I  had  no  extraordinary  favour  to  expect  in 
my  projects  matrimonial  from  Peter  Chrystie. 
But  grace  or  no  grace,  it  was  a  fine  Galloway 
morning.  I  was  twenty-one  and  in  love. 

And  these,  to  one  who  knows,  say  much.  For 
the  heather  hills  of  the  ancient  province  combine 
the  rich  colour  of  the  South  with  the  caller  air 
and  large  horizons  of  the  North.  And  as  for 
being  in  love — why,  when  I  went  out  in  the  dawn, 
the  very  heather-bells,  swishing  wet  about  my 
feet  as  I  breasted  the  brae,  seemed  to  cry  out, 
"  Nance!  Nance!  "  in  rhythmic  response  to  the 
beating  of  my  heart. 


l6o  LADS'  LOVE. 

Then  it  was  that,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  the 
beauty  of  Nature  as  it  had  been  when  God  made 
it  and  Love  together — or,  perhaps,  rather  as  it 
appeared  when  Adam  awoke,  and  his  first  upward 
glance  met  the  eyes  of  the  Woman  looking  down 
into  his. 

The  sun  was  still  climbing  the  clean-washed 
sky  of  morning.  The  larks,  earliest  choristers  of 
the  moorland,  were  pulsating  upwards.  "  Nance! 
Nance!  "  they  sang.  From  the  drying  heather 
came  the  crickets'  shrill  chirr  of  content,  sharp 
as  a  scythe  that  is  whetted  on  the  mower's  strake. 
"  Nance!  Nance!  "  they  answered  one  another. 
And  the  green-coated  peewits  called  her  name. 
The  whaups  whistled  on  her  like  so  many  sweet- 
hearts calling  her  to  come.  Away  across  the  pas- 
tures the  plaintive  recitative  of  the  lambs  lately 
separated  from  their  mothers,  told  the  tale  of 
how  lonely  it  is  to  live  without  the  Only  One — 
the  beloved  of  the  heart. 

Meanwhile,  I  was  working  my  collies  for  all 
they  were  worth — more  with  arm  than  with 
voice,  however — not  like  my  father,  who,  when 
he  is  among  the  sheep,  will  send  his  stormy 
vociferations  bellowing  from  hill-top  to  hill-top, 
till  they  break  in  a  clap  of  thunder  upon  the  care- 
less or  disobedient  dogs  as  they  go  scouring 
hither  and  thither. 


THE   ARGUMENT   OF  NABAL  THE   CHURL.  161 

This  morning  my  father  was  working  on  the 
peat-moss  within  full  sight,  and  for  that  reason, 
as  well  as  because  it  was  far  too  early  in  the  day 
to  give  me  any  opportunity  of  seeing  Nance,  I 
was  doing  my  duty  among  the  woolly  backs  with 
infinitely  more  care  and  attention  than  usual. 

But  even  as  the  dogs,  with  discursive  barkings 
and  crested  tails  were  "  wearing  "  the  sheep  from 
the  side  pastures  towards  the  "  slap  "  (or  narrow 
opening  bitten  out  of  the  high  stone  dyke),  I  was 
watching  the  square  quadrangle  of  the  Nether 
Neuk  buildings  for  a  gleam  of  rose-colour. 

On  they  came,  each  meek,  jetty  nose  laid 
companionably  on  the  back  of  its  comrade  in 
front.  I  was  counting  by  scores — even  as  to  this 
day  I  count  everything  from  pills  to  postage- 
stamps,  by  scores  and  by  the  eye,  because  I 
learned  the  business  first  among  the  thronging 
"  black-faces "  as  they  passed  through  the 
"  buchts  "  and  "  slaps  "  of  the  Galloway  hills. 

The  plaintive  shouldering  press  crowded  slow- 
ly through  the  narrow  pass,  and  the  sheep,  issu- 
ing out  of  the  needle's  eye  through  which  they 
had  been  strained,  counted,  and  medically  exam- 
ined all  in  one  passing  glance,  opened  out  and 
scattered  with  modulated  bleatings  along  the 
many  worn  sheep-tracks  which  went  meandering 
over  the  hill  of  Drumquhat. 


LADS'   LOVE. 

The  last  laggard  had  gone  by,  limping  on 
three  legs.  The  active  leaders  were  already  far 
up  the  rugged  face  of  the  "  Gairy  "  or  overhang- 
ing brows  of  heathery  fell,  when,  with  a  long 
sigh  of  relief,  I  was  able  at  last  to  turn,  set  my 
elbows  on  the  march-dyke  and  satisfy  my  eyes 
with  a  long,  hungry  look  at  the  beloved  house 
of  Nether  Neuk.  And  as  I  gazed,  the  very 
glare  of  the  sunshine  upon  the  whitewash  of 
its  walls  seemed  strangely  enough  to'  pulsate 
"  Nance!  Nance!  "  even  as  did  my  heart,  my  foot- 
steps, and  indeed  everything  else  in  the  world 
that  day. 

Suddenly  my  heart  leaped  to  a  new  tune. 
There  came  a  gleam  of  rose — a  girlish  figure  was 
seen  at  the  barn  end,  the  flash  of  arms  bare  in  the 
sunshine,  a  light  sunbonnet,  a  summer  dress  pink 
like  apple  blossom. 

Careless  of  my  father  on  the  peat-moss  I 
sprang  to  the  top  of  the  dyke  and  waved  my  bon- 
net distractedly  on  the  top  of  my  shepherd's 
crook. 

The  figure  stopped  to  look,  hand  held  level 
with  the  brows,  all  clearly  outlined  against  the 
shadowy  orchard  trees.  There  was  an  answering 
wave  of  the  hand.  My  blood  leaped  for  joy  in 
my  veins.  Ah,  the  heart  of  a  lover!  How  true 
are  its  instincts!  It  never  makes  mistakes. 


THE  ARGUMENT  OF  NABAL  THE  CHURL.  ^3 

Then  arose  from  behind  me  the  slow  drawl 
of  the  voice  pertaining  to  "  Rab  An'erson,  Lazy 
Taed!"  There  was  also  a  sharp  whiff  of  black 
tobacco  in  the  air.  He  turned  his  sleepy  eyes 
up  at  me,  as  I  stood  waving  upon  the  wall,  then 
he  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  blew  a 
long  thin  cloud  very  slowly. 

"That's  Meg  Coupland,  the  Nether  Neuk 
byre  lass.  She  will  be  pleased !" 

I  dropped  from  the  top  of  the  dyke  as  if  I  had 
been  shot. 

"  I  declare,  Rab  Anderson,  I'll  break  every 
bone  in  your  shapeless  hulk  of  a  body  " — I  was 
beginning  belligerently — for  indeed  it  was  enough 
to  anger  the  most  long  suffering — when,  sough- 
ing up  out  of  the  hollow  valley  beneath  there 
came  upon  the  light  wind  a  voice,  thin,  shrill, 
wire-drawn,  the  voice  of  the  farmer  of  -Nether 
Neuk. 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Ancrso'i,  Lazy  Taed !  Saw 
ye  ocht  o  Rab  Anerson,  Lazy  Taed  /  " 

Now,  as  a.  farmer  and  a  prospective  land- 
owner, still  more  as  a  father,  I  had  every  sort  of 
respect  for  Peter  Chrystie.  But  I  had  no  desire 
to  put  myself  in  his  way  that  morning.  Strangely 
enough,  no  more  had  Master  Robert  Anderson, 
herd,  loafer,  poacher,  unprofitable  servant.  So 
with  truly  remarkable  unanimity  of  sentiment  the 

12 


164  LADS'   LOVE. 

two  of  us  dropped  side  by  side  into  the  first  con- 
venient moss-hag  on  the  moor-side,  and  lay  there, 
safely  ensconced  each  behind  his  own  tussock  of 
bent  and  heather.  We  were  not  afraid;  we  did 
not  run;  but,  we  had  business  out  there  which 
must  be  attended  to. 

Presently  we  heard  Peter  Chrystie  come  hirp- 
ling  and  muttering  to  himself  along  the  Nether 
Neuk  side  of  the  march-dyke. 

"  I  could  ha'e  swore  that  I  saw  that  ill-con- 
trived blastie,  Alec  McWhurr,  jumpin'  up  and 
doon  on  my  march-dyke  like  a  whitterick  in  a 
rickle  o'  stanes.  Juist  let  me  get  my  tongue  on 
him." 

We  could  hear  Peter  blowing  and  gurgling  as 
he  climbed  up  the  dyke — swearing  most  profane- 
ly when  his  foot  slipped  and  he  scraped  his  leg 
from  knee  to  shin  upon  the  sharp  stones. 

Presently,  from  behind  me  I  heard  another 
foot,  steady,  slow,  weighty,  come  striding  over 
the  heather.  I  knew  the  step  for  that  of  my 
father,  Saunders  McQuhirr. 

I  could  not  see  him  from  my  lair  of  ignominy, 
but  I  knew  well  enough  how  fine  he  would  look. 
Six  feet  high  and  straight  at  sixty-five  as  at 
twenty  stood  Saunders  of  Drumquhat.  Sunday 
and  Saturday  he  was  clad  in  a  blue  frieze  coat 
with  broad  buttons.  Knee  breeches  of  corduroy, 


THE   ARGUMENT   OF   NABAL   THE   CHURL.   165 

and  shoon  buckled  with  worn  silver  clasps  com- 
pleted his  attire.  His  broad  bonnet  of  dark  Kil- 
marnock  blue  was  carried  in  his  hand  as  was  his 
custom,  save  when  it  rained.  His  grey  hair 
strayed  in  locks  over  his  massive  brow — small 
wonder  that  my  mother  and  all  his  sons  were 
proud  of  him.  There  was  no  such  man  of  his 
years  in  six  parishes. 

I  heard  him  pass  to  the  right  of  us  and  go 
towards  the  march-dyke. 

"  The  height  of  the  morning  to  you,  Drum- 
quhat!"  Peter  Chrystie's  shrill  falsetto  began, 
querulously. 

Very  cautiously  I  peeped  past  the  edge  of  the 
heather  bush  above  me.  There  within  twenty 
yards  was  Peter,  small,  wizened,  "  boolie- 
backed,"  *  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  top  of  the 
wall,  for  all  the  world  like  a  puggie-monkey  on  a 
street  organ. 

My  father  stood  beneath  looking  as  I  have 
told  you.  Whenever  I  heard  in  church  of  man 
being  made  a  little  lower  than  the  angels  I  al- 
ways thought  of  my  father. 

And  whenever  I  have  looked  at  Peter  Chrys- 
tie,  I  have  all  my  life  been  at  a  loss  to  account 


*  Bent-backed,  i.e.,  with   the   back  of  a  "  boolie  "  or  small 
wicker  basket. 


1 66  LADS'  LOVE. 

for  his  daughter  Nance.  Her  mother  surely  must 
have  been  indeed  a  paragon  of  womanhood. 

"  I  was  saying'  that  it  was  a  fine  day,  Drum- 
quhat !  "  said  Peter  again  a  little  more  sharply. 

"  God  made  the  day — it  is  not  our  part  to 
find  fault !  "  said  my  father,  the  Cameronian  elder, 
who  above  all  things  disliked  commonplaces 
about  the  weather,  and  was  therefore  almost  shut 
out  of  ordinary  society. 

"  Did  ye  come  ower  this  road  to  look  the 
sheep?"  asked  Peter  from  the  top  of  the  dyke, 
ignoring  any  questions  doubtfully  theological. 

"  I  came  to  look  for  my  son  Alexander,"  an- 
swered Saunders  McQuhirr  very  succinctly. 

"He's  a  fine  lad — him!"  said  Peter,  with 
sneering  emphasis. 

"  He  is  a  fine  lad  enough,"  said  my  father 
sternly,  "  and  that  is  more  than  I  would  say  in 
his  presence." 

"  Very  like,"  snarled  Peter;  "  then  ye  might 
keep  your  fine  lads  a  little  nearer  home,  Drum- 
quhat !  It  would  not  harm  the  fine  lads." 

"  If  you  and  yours  get  no  greater  harm  in 
this  world  than  my  lads  will  do  them,  you  and 
they  will  have  some  reason  for  thankfulness,"  said 
my  father  firmly. 

Saunders  McQuhirr  was  a  bigger  man  in  every 
way  than  his  son.  Even  at  twenty  he  would 


THE   ARGUMENT  OF  NABAL  THE   CHURL.   167 

not  have  taken  to  a  moss-hag  and  a  heather 
bush,  even  though  (as  one  Martin  Luther  said) 
it  had  rained  Peter  Chrysties  for  nine  days! 

"  He  will  never  get  my  lassie,  hear  ye  that!  " 
cried  Peter,  angrily.  "  He  is  but  a  pauper  at  ony 
rate.  My  Nance  shall  marry  a  laird — and  that 
before  long!  " 

My  father  bowed  as  only  a  Scottish  gentle- 
man of  the  old  school,  or  a  playactor  can  now- 
adays, gravely,  graciously,  gracefully.  For  in 
Galloway,  as  elsewhere,  it  is  possible  for  the  plain 
yeoman  to  be  a  complete  gentleman. 

"  Your  daughter  may  marry  whom  she  will, 
and  welcome!  As  for  my  son " 

Peter  Chrystie  laughed  a  shrill,  chuckling 
laugh. 

"  Ye  think,  maybe,  he  will  get  siller  wi'  her, 
the  young  fool;  but  hear  to  this,  man,  he  would 
not  get  a  copper  if  he  married  her  the  morn.  I 
would  leave  it  every  farthing  to  Grace.  She  has 
more  sense  than  Nance  ony  way!  " 

"  Has  my  son  asked  you  for  any  of  your 
siller?  "  said  my  father,  going  a  step  nearer  to  the 
dyke.  I  knew  how  angry  he  was  by  the  slow 
peacefulness  of  his  voice. 

"  No,  he  hasna!  "  said  Peter  Chrystie,  a  little 
alarmed,  and  getting  ready  to  descend. 

"  Then  your  silver  and  your  gold  perish  with 


1 68  LADS'   LOVE. 

you !  "  cried  my  father  sternly.  "  If  my  son  were 
so  much  as  to  ask  for  a  pennyworth  of  yours, 
Peter  Chrystie,  I  his  father  would  cast  him  off 
for  ever." 

"  Then,  if  ye  be  so  michty  pridefu',  e'en  keep 
your  roving,  thieving  brood  some  deal  nearer 
hame!  "  growled  Peter. 

My  father  did  not  answer  in  words.  It  was 
not  indeed  a  time  for  more  words.  Instead,  he 
strode  forward  to  the  march-dyke  and  gripped 
the  farmer  of  Nether  Neuk  by  the  neck,  who 
screamed  like  a  throttled  hen  in  the  grasp  of  the 
executioner. 

"  The  argument  of  David  in  order  to  persuade 
Nabal  the  churl!"  said  my  father,  "who,  like 
you,  Peter  Chrystie,  was  such  a  son  of  Belial  that 
a  man  might  not  speak  with  him!" 

So,  with  a  little  jerk  of  his  arm,  he  sent  his 
opponent  flying  lightly  off  the  dyke-top,  and  I 
heard  him  fall  with  a  splash  into  a  pool  of  dirty 
water  on  the  other  side  in  which  the  sheep  had 
been  washed  for  months. 

Then  my  father  strode  away  with  his  shoul- 
ders square  and  his  head  up,  like  King  David 
returning  from  the  slaughter  of  the  Philis- 
tines. 

And  as  I  listened  to  the  curses  Peter  Chrystie 
invoked  from  the  green  scum  of  the  "  Dub " 


THE   ARGUMENT  OF   NABAL  THE  CHURL.  169 

upon  every  scion  of  the  McQuhirrs  of  Drum- 
quhat,  unto  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  gen- 
erations, I  realised  that  I  had  indeed  some  dis- 
tance to  travel  before  I  could  call  Nance  Chrystie 
my  wife. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

FOUR    LETTERS. 

But  in  Galloway  at  least,  consent  of  parents 
(or  the  lack  of  it)  does  not  much  affect  the  inter- 
course of  those  in  whom  the  fire  of  love  burns 
mutually.  I  did  not  trouble  Peter  Chrystie  with 
any  interview  on  the  subject  of  immediate  mar- 
riage with  his  daughter.  Nor  did  the  master  of 
Nether  Neuk  say  a  single  word  to  Nance  which 
might  have  indicated  that  he  knew  anything 
whatever  about  the  matter.  The  laird  of  Butter- 
hole  came  a  little  oftener,  perhaps,  and  had  rather 
more  extended  opportunities  of  pressing  his  suit. 
But  that  was  all.  Nance  openly  wore  my  ring 
with  the  Water-of-Dee  pearls  upon  her  finger, 
and  if  Peter  remarked  it,  or  was  informed  of  the 
circumstance,  certainly  he  never  "  let  on "  to 
her,  as  the  children  say  in  the  parish  of  Whinny- 
liggate. 

In  due  time  I  again  took  my  departure  for 

the  college  of  Edinburgh,  walking  all  the  way 

170 


FOUR   LETTERS. 


171 


with  my  staff  in  my  hand,  up  green  straths  and 
down  the  sides  of  heathery  mountains.  My 
box  had  gone  on  a  week  before  by  the  Dum- 
fries carrier.  And  at  every  other  turning  I 
came  on  other  brisk  lads,  who,  like  myself,  were 
the  hopes  of  muirland  homes,  and  the  favour- 
ite pupils  of  birch-wielding  village  dominies 
— the  hope  of  their  country  too,  and  of  the 
world. 

Most  of  these  bright-faced,  clear-skinned  lads 
were  in  full  chase  for  the  ministry  of  the  kirk. 
A  few  were  studying  the  Arts  for  their  own 
sakes — I  myself  was  bound  to  be  a  doctor.  But 
whatever  our  several  goals,  each  one  of  us  dis- 
cussed "  Fate  and  Free-will  (the  perennials  of 
Scottish  youth),  Fore-knowledge  absolute,"  as 
well  as  the  Right  of  Veto,  Kirks  and  Creeds,  In- 
trusion and  Non-Intrusion — the  topics  of  the 
time — and  then  last  of  all  we  fell  back  on  our 
sweethearts.  But  all  the  while  I  spoke,  and  often 
when  I  listened,  I  would  slip  my  hand  covertly 
inside  my  coat  to  feel  the  little  hard  lump  which 
meant  Nance's  own  mother's  ring,  and  my  half 
of  the  lucky  sixpence  she  and  I  had  divided  be- 
tween us,  which  Nance  had  cunningly  joined  to 
the  ring  with  a  hairpin. 

"  Ah-ha! "  I  was  saying  all  the  while  to  my- 
self, "  you  are  all  very  fine  fellows,  doubtless,  but 


172 


LADS'   LOVE. 


you  haven't  a  sweetheart  among  the  lot  of  you 
like  my  Nance!  " 

By-and-by  we  found  ourselves  in  winter  quar- 
ters, living  sparsely,  working  eagerly — I  on  the 
inexpensive  and  malodorous  verges  of  the  Pleas- 
ance,  the  others  settled  here  and  there  through- 
out the  city,  according  to  their  inclinations  and 
the  depths  of  their  purses. 

Letters  came  to  me  week  by  week,  wafered 
and  sealed  in  black  and  red,  every  one  of  them 
with  Whinnyliggate  stamped  on  each  line  and 
syllable.  So  that  whenever  I  saw  one  of  these 
lying  on  the  musty,  green-figured,  landlady's 
table-cloth  (which  was  turned  after  every  meal), 
a  kind  of  lonely  emptiness  took  me  sharply  in 
the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  I  longed  almost  to 
the  breaking  of  my  heart  to  be  again  scouring 
these  well-kenned  braes  and — and,  well,  all  the 
rest  that  Whinnyliggate  meant  to  me. 

The  letters  were  usually  somewhat  as  fol- 
lows: 

First,  from  my  father,  on  quarto  paper,  water- 
lined,  closely  written,  red  seal. 

"  DEAR  ALEXANDER, — I  had  pleasure  in  re- 
ceiving your  last,  containing  an  account  of  the 
great  Non-Intrusion  meeting.  Things  are  spir- 
itually and  otherwise  very  quiet  in  this  part — lit- 


FOUR  LETTERS. 


173 


tie  interest  being  shown  by  either  ministers  or 
people  in  living  religion,  save  one  here  and  an- 
other there  among  the  remnant  of  the  true  Kirk 
of  the  Covenants.  Mr.  Osbourne  upheld  the  ban- 
ner grandly  last  Sabbath,  speaking  for  two  hours 
on  Jeremiah  24th,  and  first  and  third.  '  The  Lord 
showed  me  and  behold  two  baskets  of  figs.  And 
he  said  "  what  seeth  thou,  Jeremiah?  "  And  I 
said  "  Figs — good  figs,  very  good,  and  the  evil 
figs,  very  evil,  that  cannot  be  eaten,  they  are  so 
evil."  This  Mr.  Osbourne  applied  with  great 
effect  to  the  present  stir  in  the  country,  proving 
that  after  all  there  are  but  two  kinds  of  folk  in 
Scotland,  even  as  there  were  but  two  kinds  of  figs 
in  the  prophet's  basket — true  Cameronians,  that 
is,  and  the  others.  The  congregation  was  greatly 
pleased,  and  many  are  speaking  of  making  up  his 
salary  another  ten  pounds  in  the  year,  more  espe- 
cially as  the  Established  folk,  both  Moderates 
and  High-flyers,  are  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind, 
saying  that  they  ken  well  whom  he  was  hitting 
at.  As  you  may  imagine,  it  was  a  great  day  at 
the  Kirk  on  the  Hill.  You  might  take  a  step 
along  next  Wednesday  to  the  market  at  Lauris- 
ton  and  see  what  are  the  best  prices  going  for 
black-faced  hoggs — I  am  not  satisfied  in  no  way 
with  the  Dumfries  prices.  I  am  glad  to  know 
that  the  Professors  open  their  classes  with  prayer 


174  LADS'  LOVE. 

every  morning.  If  they  are  worthy  men,  it  ought 
to  be  a  very  improving  exercise  to  the  students. 
— I  am,  dear  Alexander,  your  affectionate  father, 

"ALEX.  McQuriiRR." 

"P.  S. — Do  not  forget  to  give  me  the  texts 
at  both  diets  of  worship.  It  is  a  great  privilege 
which  is  yours,  of  sitting  under  such  a  man  as  the 
Doctor  in  the  Sanctuary  of  Lady  Lawson's 
Wynd.  Also  mind  to  tell  me  the  Psalm  upon 
which  he  prefaces,  and  as  many  of  the  heads  and 
particulars  as  you  can  charge  your  mind  with." 

This  was  my  father's  subtle  way  of  ascertain- 
ing whether  I  attended  church  twice  every  Sun- 
day. But  as  there  was  another  Cameronian 
student  in  the  next  street  to  me,  we  took  it  day 
about.  My  notes  were  the  best,  for  I  never  could 
sleep  comfortably  in  church  all  the  days  of  me. 

Then  there  came  a  letter  from  my  mother, 
written  small,  on  ruled  paper  torn  from  an  old 
copy-book,  unsealed,  laid  on  the  top  of  a  box  of 
scones. 

"  DEAR  SON, — I  am  sending  you  this  by  car- 
rier's cart  (and  mind  do  not  pay  him  one  farden 
more,  the  greedy  wretch  wad  stick  at  naething). 
There  is  some  eggs  and  butter,  also  soda  scones. 


FOUR  LETTERS.  175 

My  hoast  is  some  better,  and  the  pain  in  my  side 
has  gone.  I  am  eating  weel.  Dinna  forget  your 
prayers,  and  to  change  your  socks  every  fort- 
night. Ye  should  get  white  sarks  washed  cheaper 
than  ye  say.  Three  pence  for  one  sark  is  an  im- 
position, and  the  buttons  no  sewed  on.  I  fear 
Edinburgh  is  but  an  ungodly  city.  O,  dear  son, 
keep  oot  o'  bad  company,  and  put  on  dry  shoon 
whenever  ye  come  in.  Be  careful  o'  yer  siller,  for 
ye  will  get  nae  mair.  There's  ten  shillin's  that  I 
got  for  eggs  last  Monday.  Ye  will  find  it  wrappit 
in  white  paper  at  the  bottom  o'  the  butter  crock. 
I'm  dootful  o'  thae  carrier  bodies — they  are  no 
chancey.  Your  faither  kens  nocht  about  the 
siller,  so  write  that  ye  got  it  safe  on  an  odd  scrap. 
Dear  son,  dinna  forget  your  auld  mither,  that 
thinks  with  unshut  eye  on  ye  mony  a  nicht  when 
the  rats  are  cheeping. 

"  P.  S. — Nance  is  weel,  and  looking  weel.  She 
spak'  to  me  at  the  Kirk  on  Sabbath,  and 
speered  gin  we  had  heard  o'  ye.  That  was 
kind  o'  her  and  thoughtfu'.  She  didna  want  us 
to  think  that  she  got  mair  letters  than  us.  But 
for  a'  that  I  jalloose  she  does. — Your  loving 
Mother." 

Third,  from  the  Hempie,  folded  to  represent 
a  ship  in  full  sail,  crumpled,  stained  with  apple 


LADS'   LOVE. 

jelly,  thrust  into  the  cover  of  the  next  epistle 
in  order. 

"  Alec,  I  sweered  I  wad  not  write  ye  anither 
scribe,  so  I  winna.  Ye  are  a  beest  and  nothing 
but.  Three  times  to  Nance  for  yince  to  me,  and 
ten  pages  in  every  letter  o'  hers!  I  put  the  pic- 
ture o'  you  on  Nance's  table  on  her  birthday,  as 
ye  telled  me,  and  hid  ahint  the  door.  When  she 
cam'  in,  she  gaed  up  to  the  glass  to  see  if  her 
curls  were  becomin' — the  conceited  madam — and 
then  after  pookin'  at  them  a  wee,  she  sees  the 
pictur'  lying.  She  gies  a  bit  scraich,  like  a  cat 
when  ye  tramp  on  its  tail,  and  she  begins  kissin' 
the  silly  thing  and  greetin'  ower  it.  It  made  me 

fair  seek  to  see  it.    And  she  said But  I'm 

no'  gaun  to  flairdie  ye  up  by  telling  ye  what  she 
said.  Ye  think  eneuch  o'  yoursel'  as  it  is,  Mistir 
Alexander  McWhurr,  Junior,  Doctor.  But,  as 
sure  as  death,  it  will  be  a  lang  day  and  a  short 
yin  before  I  carry  on  as  daftlike  as  that  aboot 
ony  lad.  Lasses  are  silly  light-heeded  apes — 
that's  my  last  thocht  o't — and  men  are  ten  times 
waur.  My  cat  has  three  kittlin's,  and  ither 
three  that  was  droon't.  Nance  has  a  new  hat 
with  red  berries  intil't.  She  doesna  look  bon- 
ny in  it  ava;  so  ye  needna  think  it.  If  my  next 
letter  is  no  as  lang  as  Nance's,  never  another 


FOUR   LETTERS.  177 

scrape  ye'll  get  frae  me. — Your  obedt.  Servt.  to 

command, 

"THE  HEMPIE." 

"  P.  S. — There's  a  braw  man  hame  frae  the 
pack  somewhere  oot  o'  England.  He  has  a  gold 
watch  as  big  as  a  Sweedish  turnip,  and  the  cheen 
is  as  thick  as  your  wrist.  He  has  muckle  black 
whiskers,  and  he  often  comes  here  to  see  Nance 
— or  so  he  lets  on.  But  I  ken  better,  the  hair- 
oiled  seefer*  that  he  is.  He  asked  Nance  wha 
gied  her  yon  ring.  Says  she,  '  I'll  tell  ye  that, 
Master  Murdoch,  when  ye  tell  me  what  richt  ye 
hae  to  speer  the  question! '  Michty  me,  but  that 
was  spunky  o'  Nance,  and  the  auld  man  sittin' 
there!  However,  I'm  feard  he  will  set  my  fai- 
ther's  back  up  aboot  the  ring.  For  they  are  great 
cronies.  But  the  Hempie  kens  a  heap,  and  if 
there's  a  key-hole  in  Nether  Neuk,  the  Hempie 
will  ken  mair  or  all  be  done. 

"  Second  P.  S. — Nance  has  never  lookit  twice 
at  a  sowl  since  ye  gaed  ower  the  hill.  This  is  fack 
as  daith,  and  dooble  daith." 

It  is  small  wonder  that  I  looked  with  great 
longing  for  the  Hempie's  very  unconventional 
letters.  They  always  told  me  exactly  the  thing 

*  /.  e.,  miserable  wretch. 


!78  LADS'   LOVE. 

I  wanted  to  know,  and  precisely  that  which  Nance 
did  not  and  would  not  tell  me. 

But,  lord!  what  a  stound  my  heart  gave  when 
on  the  green  table-cloth  lay  a  daintier  letter, 
whiter  than  the  others,  different  altogether  some- 
how, with  handwriting  upon  it  like  the  delicate 
Hellenic  script  of  some  ancient  cursive.  It  would 
begin — 

"  Laddie  Mine,  do  you  think  of  me  still  at 
times,  or  have  the  bonny  lasses  (really  bonny,  I 
mean)  of  Edinburgh  town  quite  driven  both 
Nance  and  Nether  Neuk  out  of  your  head?  Be 
sure  and  tell  me  in  time,  so  that  I  may  make  up 
to  the  Laird  of  Butterhole.  I  think  I  may  have 
a  chance  there  yet,  though  I  hear  he  was  over 
at  the  Sunnyknowes  seeing  Jeanie  only  the  week 
before  last.  So  I  must  hurry  if  I  am  not  to  be 
left  lamenting.  Do  you  know,  I  went  to  the 
pear-tree  to-night  at  the  darkening?  There  was 
snow  on  our  seat.  I  brushed  it  off  and  leaned 
my  head  against  the  bark.  But  somehow  it  was 
not  half  so  nice.  Something  was  wanting.  I 
could  not  think  what — unless  it  was  a  great 
stupid  lad  in  a  certain  coat  of  grey,  which  it  is 
much  nicer  to  rub  one's  cheek  against  than  any 
old  tree.  I  am  glad  he  is  tall,  that  laddie.  My 
head  comes  just  to  the  right  place — for  me,  at 


FOUR   LETTERS. 


1/9 


least.    And  as  for  him,  I  have  not  heard  him  make 
any  complaints,  so  far. 

"  I  wish,  oh,  how  I  wish  he  were  here  now, 
that  lad  of  mine.  Are  his  eyes  as  blue  as  ever, 
I  wonder — his  brow  as  broad  and  white,  his  shoul- 
ders as  square,  and  his  hair  of  the  same  bonny 
nut-brown?  And  if  he  were  to  find  me  waiting 
for  him  where  this  letter  is,  when  he  opened  the 
door  quickly  and  came  in  from  his  classes,  would 
a  glad,  glad  look  flash  into  his  eyes  and  the  red 
of  the  morning  flood  to  his  cheek?  Would  he 
say,  'My  Nance!  My  Nance!'  just  as  he  used 
to  do  when  we  met  by  the  pear-tree  in  the  or- 
chard? Tell  me  if  you  think  he  would.  But  if  he 
has  forgotten  the  little  lass  with  the  aching  heart 
so  far  away,  please  don't  tell  me  yet  awhile.  For 
I  would  keep  my  heart  happy  while  I  can.  There 
is  another  man  bothering  me,  Alec.  But  a  thou- 
sand men  do  not  matter  to  me  and  my  lad.  For 
(down  with  your  ear  and  let  me  whisper)  I  love 
my  laddie — I  love  him  true! 

"  Now  don't  you  wish  you  had  a  sweetheart 
like  me? — I  have  the  honour  to  be,  Mister  Alex- 
ander M'Quhirr,  respectfully  yours, 

"  NANCE  CHRYSTIE." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   GHOST   WALK. 

In  such  vocations  as  these  a  little  more  than 
two  years  passed  away,  ere  under  the  easy  uni- 
versity regulations  of  those  days,  I  was  back  again 
with  my  diploma,  and  waiting  a  month  or  two  at 
Drumquhat  for  a  vacancy  in  the  assistantship  to 
Dr.  Armstrong,  the  leading  Doctor  in  Cairn  Ed- 
ward. I  had  not  had  a  holiday  of  such  duration 
for  nearly  three  years.  I  had,  it  is  true,  often 
been  to  and  fro  between  Edinburgh  and  our  quiet 
Galloway  parish.  And  always  I  had  found  Nance 
everything  that  heart  could  desire — which  was  a 
marvel,  for  my  heart  desired  a  great  deal  in  those 
days. 

But  now  I  had  returned,  I  hoped  "  for  good." 
It  was  not  long  after  the  Hempie  and  Nance  had 
written  me  the  letters,  which  by  the  condescen- 
sion of  the  higher  powers  I  have  been  permitted 
to  quote  above.  Some  things  appeared  very 

different  from  what  they  had  seemed  in  the  old 

1 80 


"/  wish,  oh  I  wish  he  was  here  now." 


THE   GHOST   WALK.  jgi 

days,  when  I  went  philandering  over  the  country- 
side with  Matthew  and  Allan. 

Nance,  indeed,  looked  the  same,  save  of  course 
that  she  was  bonnier  than  ever — taller,  too,  it 
seemed,  more  graceful,  more  perfectly  developed, 
with  a  look  as  if  her  clothes  had  somehow  grown 
up  about  her,  like  the  sheathing  of  a  flower  where 
the  calyx  protects  the  petals  before  they  open 
fully  out.  She  did  not  appear  to  have  waked 
in  a  hurry  and  put  on  some  one  else's  apparel  by 
mistake,  a  misfortune  which  seemed  to  have  hap- 
pened to  most  of  our  Whinnyliggate  maidens 
whenever  they  arrayed  themselves,  regardless  of 
expense,  in  their  Sunday  best. 

Even  the  Hempie  wore  long  dresses  now,  and 
walked  no  more  on  the  roofs  of  pig-styes.  But 
her  heart  was  still  hard  against  the  tender  pas- 
sion, and  I  found  her  as  notably  free  of  speech  as 
ever  when  she  and  I  forgathered  by  ourselves. 

"  He's  juist  the  black  De'il  himsel' — weel 
brushed  and  curry-combed!"  said  the  Hempie. 

She  spoke  of  Mr.  Nathan  Murdoch,  the  man 
of  whom  Nance  and  she  had  spoken  in  their  let- 
ters, and  whom,  upon  this  his  second  visit  to  the 
village,  I  had  not  yet  seen.  Nance  and  the  Hem- 
pie  united  in  cordially  detesting  him.  Lazy 
Grace  tolerated  him,  because  he  did  not  pester 
her  particularly.  Only  Peter  welcomed  him  to 


1 82  LADS'   LOVE. 

Nether  Neuk,  because  he  was  reputed  to  have 
come  home  with  a  fortune,  and  to  be  looking  out 
for  an  estate  to  buy  as  soon  as  one  came  into  the 
market. 

Indeed  Nathan  Murdoch,  J.  P.  (of  Bolton-le- 
Moors  and  Chorley — with  a  branch  at  Preston) 
was  nothing  loath  to  speak  of  the  great  and  flour- 
ishing business  he  had  left  behind  him,  the  for- 
tune he  had  made  by  inducing  poor  women  to 
buy,  unknown  to  their  husbands,  articles  for 
which  they  had  no  earthly  use,  at  three  times 
their  value,  and  best  of  all,  to  pay  for  them  by 
weekly  instalments  on  a  new  and  original  plan  of 
his  own — which  at  the  end  of  a  year  left  them 
deeper  in  his  debt  than  they  had  been  at  the  be- 
ginning. 

•  It  was  not  long  before  I  had  the  inestimable 
advantage  of  meeting  the  "  Jye  Pay,"  as  he  was 
called,  from  the  initials  of  his  honourable  office. 
At  the  first  glance  I  could  see  that  Mr.  Na- 
than Murdoch  did  not  like  me.  My  own  feelings 
with  regard  to  Mr.  Nathan  will  find  adequate  ex- 
pression as  this  narrative  proceeds.  I  found  him, 
personally,  a  floridly  handsome  old-young  man 
with  a  curious  droop  of  the  left  eye-lid,  and  blue- 
black  hair  which  crisped  and  "  kinked  "  so  tightly 
that  his  head  appeared  to  be  wrapped  up  in  a 
stray  remnant  of  Astrakhan  rug.  He  was  rather 


THE   GHOST   WALK.  ^3 

tall,  and  walked  with  a  knowing,  well-contented 
swagger,  carrying  a  gold  chain  thick  as  a  ship's 
cable  across  his  waist-coat,  as  proudly  as  if  it  had 
been  a  certificate  of  character. 

It  is  not  in  fallible  mortal  to  decide  offhand 
what  manner  of  man  will  win  his  way  to  the 
hearts  of  women.  This  only  I  say,  that  had  I 
been  a  woman,  the  very  sight  of  the  greasy  self- 
sufficiency  of  Mr.  Nathan  Murdoch  (late  of  Bol- 
ton-le-Moors  and  Chorley,  and  a  distinguished 
ornament  of  the  travelling  Scotch  trade  thereof), 
would,  in  the  simple  and  untutored  language  of 
the  Hempie,  "  have  made  me  seek" 

But  certainly  this  was  not  the  general  im- 
pression in  the  parts  about  Whinnyliggate,  and 
even  as  far  as  Cairn  Edward — where  (it  was  whis- 
pered) the  gay  bachelor  had  aired  his  fascinations 
with  all  too  fatal  effect  at  a  Subscription  Ball. 

Even  before  I  had  seen  Nance,  I  was  warned 
against  the  dangerous  influence  of  the  "  Braw 
Packman." 

"  Aye,  Alec,"  said  James  Campbell  of  the 
Black  Craig,  as  he  went  by  me  with  a  bag  of 
salt  on  his  shoulder,  "  so  ye  hae  lost  your  sweet- 
heart! I'm  rael  vexed  for  ye.  But  a  bonny  lass, 
Alec — we  a'  ken!  O  the  craiturs! — they  do 
juist  wi'  us  as  they  like.  But  it's  a  Quid's  bless- 
in'  that  there  aye  plenty  of  decent  hizzies,  maybe 


1 84  LADS'   LOVE. 

no'  juist  as  bonny  to  look  at  as  your  Nance,  but 
every  bit  as  serviceable,  that  will  be  glad  to  jump 
at  the  like  o'  you  and  me  when  the  time  comes." 

Or  again,  it  was  my  mother  who  said,  as  I 
sat  at  my  tea  on  the  evening  of  my  return  from 
Edinburgh,  a  meal  which,  all  trembling  with  ex- 
citement, she  had  prepared  with  her  own  hand, 
'''  Ye  will  be  steppin'  ower  by  the  nicht — nae 
doot.  Ye'll  dootless  hae  heard  the  Nether  Neuk 
news  every  week?  " 

No  one  who  knows  not  my  mother  has  any 
idea  what  indirect  speech  means,  however  thor- 
ough his  classical  training  may  have  been. 

"  Aye,  mither!  "  I  would  reply,  "  I  hae  heard 
nearly  every  week — whiles  frae  Nance  and  whiles 
frae  the  Hempie." 

"  Nance  will  hae  been  writin'  regularly — na?  " 
(This  suggestively.) 

"  Ow  aye,  mither, — what  for  do  ye  ask?  " 

"  Oh,  naething  ava — I  was  only  speerin*. 
There's  a  bit  mannie  frae  the  English  side,  wi' 
a  desperate  heap  o'  siller  and  a  desperate  lack 
o'  manners,  that  has  been  a  deal  aboot  the  Nether 
Neuk  this  while  back — ye  will  hae  heard  o'  him, 
nae  doot !  " 

I  told  her  that  I  had,  both  from  Nance  and 
the  Hempie. 

"  Weel,  ye  will  ken  best,  nae  doot,"  said  my 


THE   GHOST   WALK.  185 

mother;  "  but  they  say  that  he  is  fair  fond  to 
get  Nance,  and  that  it  will  no'  be  her  faither's 
faut  if  he  doesna'  wed  her  before  the  year  is  oot." 

"Hoot,  mither!"  I  answered  blithely,  "did 
ye  ever  ken  either  laird's  son  or  'prentice  mason- 
lad  come  into  this  parish,  but  the  silly  tongues 
o'  the  sillier  folk  evened  him  before  the  darkening 
to  Nance  Chrystie?  I'm  sure  ye  micht  mind 
yoursel'  what  it  is  to  be  the  bonniest  lass  in  a' 
the  countryside — and  no'  let  them  misca'  Nance, 
juist  because  every  loon  with  a  pair  o'  legs  makes 
straight  for  the  Nether  Neuk  to  speak  aboot  see- 
ing her,  as  if  she  were  the  wonder  o'  the  world !  " 

And  indeed  so  I  thought  her. 

"  Hoot  awa,  lad !  "  cried  my  mother  with  a 
quiet  like  smile,  "  dinna  came  flairdyin'  *  me.  Ye 
canna  blaw  in  your  mither's  auld  deaf  lug  wi' 
daft  speeches.  Keep  them  for  the  young  lass 
ower  by.  No  that  I  hae  ony  fear  o'  Nance  my- 
sel'.  She  would  never  set  that  ignorant  lump 
o'  pride  against  my  lad,  for  as  muckle  gowd  as 
there's  solid  granite  in  Criffel!  " 

It  was  a  bonny  gloaming  in  the  heart  of  May 
when  I  set  out  to  see  my  dear,  my  mother  watch- 
ing me  from  the  door,  a  smile  on  her  lip  and  a  tear 
in  her  eye.  After  all  that  had  come  and  gone, 

*  Flattering. 


1 86  LADS'   LOVE. 

I  mind  it  clearer  than  I  remember  what  weather 
it  was  yesterday — or,  as  it  might  be,  how  much 
I  put  into  the  plate  at  the  kirk  last  Sunday. 

Everywhere  there  was  spread  abroad  the 
green  haze  of  Spring.  The  buds  had  just  come 
forth  with  a  rush  after  such  a  winter  as  only 
our  grandfathers  had  seen  the  match  of.  I  went 
over  to  Nether  Neuk  by  the  hill  road,  skirting 
the  moss-hags,  where  once  in  so  ignominious  a 
case  I  had  listened  to  the  interview  between  my 
father  and  Peter  Chrystie.  A  belt  of  tall  and 
gloomy  firs  lay  along  the  ridge  to  my  left,  like 
an  army  encamped  under  dark-green  tents. 

In  the  level  sunlight  of  the  evening  the  lofty 
pillars  of  the  Scotch-firs  glowed  red  against  the 
dusky  caverns  of  the  spruce-wood  behind  them. 

How  eagerly  I  sped  along,  only  a  lover  can 
tell.  For  it  was  six  months  since  I  had  seen 
my  dear — to  my  hungering  heart  at  least  six 
centuries. 

I  expected  to  meet  her  by  the  corner  of  the 
orchard  where  grew  the  ancient,  mouldy  pear- 
tree  which,  to  make  one  bond  the  more,  we  called 
by  excellence  "  ours."  It  had  nothing  of  the 
chilled  snow  now  upon  its  bole,  but  waited,  I 
knew,  all  duly  Spring-cleaned,  set  in  order,  and 
fit  for  habitation. 

So  as  I  skirted  the  pine-wood  on  the  edge  of 


The  Ghost  Walk. 


THE   GHOST   WALK.  1 87 

the  moor,  I  chanced  to  lift  my  eyes  from  the 
clump  of  pleasant,  glimmering,  light-green  beech- 
trees,  about  the  nestling  white  houses  of  Nether 
Neuk  to  the  gloomy  pines  on  my  left  hand. 
Something  was  moving  there,  which  my  eye  had 
been  conscious  of  without  seeing.  When  I  came 
to  the  corner  of  the  dyke,  I  could  look  into  a 
loop  of  the  pine-forest  called  the  "  Ghost  Walk," 
because  once,  long  ago,  a  certain  white  lady  had 
walked  there  of  nights.  The  Ghosts'  Walk  was 
a  gulf  of  green  and  brown  where  the  turf  young 
grasses  of  the  moor  and  the  burnt  patches  of 
last  year's  heather  ran  far  into  the  circumambient 
woodlands  of  Larbrax. 

As  I  looked,  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  girl  walking 
across  the  belt  of  green  from  one  side  of  the 
clearing  to  the  other.  Her  figure  was  slender, 
yet,  somehow,  stately  also,  and  she  moved  with 
ease  and  freedom.  She  was  dressed  in  what  ap- 
peared to  be  the  latest  fashion  of  the  day,  and 
she  carried  the  great  broad-brimmed,  fashionable 
hat  of  the  period  in  her  hand.  No  sheeted  white 
lady  she! 

Surely  there  was  none  in  all  that  land  who 
could  look  so  like  my  love. 

"  Nance!  "  I  cried,  and  again  the  louder  that 
she  did  not  answer,  "  Nance! " 

It  was  broad  daylight.    The  sun  was  setting, 


1 88  LADS'   LOVE. 

it  is  true,  but  with  a  full  hour  of  his  journey  to 
go,  sliding  easily  down-hill  all  the  way,  ere  the 
Orchar  and  the  Black  Craig  o'  Dee  should  hide 
him  from  the  broad  pastures  and  peaty  solitudes 
upon  which  since  early  morning  he  had  shone. 

Now  there  could  be  no  mistake.  I  saw  the 
girl  as  clearly  as  though  I  had  spoken  with  her. 
She  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from 
me,  clear  both  of  the  woodland  and  of  its  indigo 
shadows.  Yet  when  I  cried  "  Nance!  "  and  looked 
for  her  to  turn  and  greet  me — without  a  word, 
without  a  glance  over  her  shoulder  she  glided 
mysteriously  to  the  edge  of  the  pines,  and,  just 
at  the  place  where  the  shadows  were  of  the  deep- 
est, disappeared. 

She  did  not  run  into  the  wood.  She  did  not 
hide  behind  the  trunks  of  the  trees.  Simply,  she 
was  and  she  was  not.  I  overleaped  the  dyke,  and 
ran  with  hasty  steps  to  the  place  where  I  had 
seen  the  figure  cross  the  glade  of  green.  I  walked 
along  her  footsteps,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  to 
the  exact  spot  at  which  she  had  vanished.  But 
not  a  turned  blade  of  grass,  not  a  foot-print,  not 
a  sign  of  life,  sight  nor  sound  of  human  creature 
could  I  discern,  though  I  went  some  distance  into 
the  wood  and  called  loudly  and  urgently. 

I  own  that  I  returned  to  the  open  moorland 
from  the  precincts  of  the  "  Ghost  Walk  "  with  a 


THE    GHOST   WALK.  189 

feeling  of  relief.  I  was  a  qualified  healer  of  my 
fellow-men.  I  flattered  myself  that  I  possessed 
the  best  scientific  training  of  the  day,  and  I  knew 
that  my  teachers  had  often  informed  me  that 
mysteries  did  not  exist,  save  such  as  might  be 
discovered  by  lens  and  scalpel.  Yet  all  the  same 
it  was  indubitably  pleasant  to  be  out  again  on 
the  open  hill-sides  and  within  cry  of  the  whole- 
some houses  of  living  men. 

At  the  corner  of  the  moorland  nearest  the 
white  quadrangle  of  Nether  Neuk,  I  sat  me  down 
to  spy  out  the  land.  The  kye  v/ere  home,  as  I 
knew  by  the  bareness  of  the  pasture  lands.  To 
a  dweller  in  dairy  countries  there  is  a  peculiarly 
well-clothed  and  fair-garnished  look  about  a 
broad  field  dotted  with  grazing  kine.  But  neither 
black  Galloways  nor  yet  reddish-brown  white- 
flecked  Ayr»hires  were  to  be  seen  on  the  Holm 
Croft  nor  yet  on  Dunnimyre — the  two  chief  pas- 
tures of  Nether  Neuk.  They  lay  unpeopled,  for- 
lorn, swept  of  their  browsing  head-tossing  adorn- 
ment of  bestial.  For  it  was  milking-time,  and 
they  were  all  safe  in  stall.  I  think  the  feeling  of 
loneliness  which  strikes  one  in  looking  at  such 
bare  fields  may  be  chiefly  compounded  of  the  old 
hereditary  fear  of  the  raiders  from  over  the  bor- 
der, who,  not  so  long  ago,  left  uncropped  pas- 
tures and  empty  byres  in  their  train.  Mixed 


190 


LADS'   LOVE. 


with  this,  there  is  the  more  modern  rustic  feeling 
that  in  the  heartsome  byre,  where  the  cows  are 
meekly  chewing  their  cuds  while  they  are  being 
milked,  is  centred  for  the  time  being  all  the  mirth 
and  jollity  of  the  farm-town. 

Sorely  and  oft  did  I  wish  that  I  dared  venture 
down  among  them.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  talk 
run  from  end  to  end  of  the  row  of  milking 
maidens.  The  white  streams  hissed  with  a  pleas- 
ant tinkling  sound  into  the  milking-pails.  I 
knew  exactly  how — loud  and  bass  when  the 
"  luggies "  were  empty,  passing  into  shriller 
treble  as  the  white  tide  brimmed  higher  and 
higher  within. 

But  not  that  night  was  the  byre  of  Nether 
Neuk  for  Alec  McQuhirr.  Ever  since  the  affair 
of  my  father  and  Nabal  the  Churl  by  the  march- 
dyke,  the  Jew  had  no  dealings  with  the  Samari- 
tan, and  to  the  master  of  Nether  Neuk  the  mere 
name  of  McQuhirr  was  an  offence. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  PRINCESS  NANCE. 

So  there  I  waited,  impatiently  enough,  in  the 
mild  evening  light,  till  I  should  see  the  milkers 
come  from  the  byre,  and  Peter  settle  himself  in- 
doors with  his  paper,  to  prepare  himself  by  a 
copious  comparison  of  prices  for  the  "  troke  and 
barter  "  of  Drumfern  market  on  the  morrow. 

Often,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  I  glanced 
about  me  to  see  if  the  mysterious  maiden  of  the 
woodland  glade  might  not  glide  over  the  hill 
and,  sudden  as  a  pixie,  look  out  at  me  from  the 
other  side  of  a  moss-hag. 

But  only  the  silly  peewits  dipped  and  circled, 
or  a  whaup  dropped  complainingly  with  her  long 
and  beautiful  stoop  to  the  nest  on  the  bare  peat. 
Maiden  of  earthly  sort  there  was  none  nearer 
than  the  byre.  The  moor  lay  behind  me,  alter- 
nately grey  and  purple,  purple  and  grey,  to  the 
uttermost  horizon. 

At  last  the  milkers  came  trooping  out.    First 
191 


!Q2  LADS'   LOVE. 

• 

there  was  Grace,  sedate  and  finely  stolid,  carry- 
ing her  full  pail  carefully  in  her  hand.  Then  came 
the  Hempie  with  a  stray  lad  in  attendance,  at 
whom  she  struck  after  her  fashion  with  her  milk- 
ing-stool,  as  he  followed  her  through  the  door- 
way. Then,  more  tumultuously  still,  a  miscel- 
laneous pour  of  lads  and  lasses,  almost  like  a  kirk 
skailing,  for  it  had  been  high  festival  in  the  byre 
that  night. 

But  still  no  Nance. 

I  could  not  understand  it.  Was  it  possible 
that  after  all  I  had  surprised  my  own  sweetheart 
in  the  open  forest  glade,  and  that  she  had  fled 
from  the  sound  of  my  voice? 

While  I  sat  thus  wrapped  in  uncertainty  and 
meditating  many  strange  things  in  my  mind,  I 
heard  a  footstep  behind  me.  A  stone  rolled  from 
a  dyke  and  a  man  sprang  over.  I  had  never  set 
eyes  on  him  before,  having  been  in  Edinburgh 
at  the  time  of  his  first  visit,  but  I  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  recognising  Mr.  Nathan  Murdoch.  Here 
was  the  dashing  exterior  a  little  faded,  the  thick 
chain  of  gold,  the  densely  crisped  hair,  the  black 
whiskers,  the  twisted  aspiring  moustache  so  won- 
derful and  entrancing  to  the  rustic  eye.  The  fel- 
low passed  so  close  to  me  that  I  could  see  him 
well. 

"  It  is  a  fine  evening  for  looking  the  sheep, 


THE   PRINCESS   NANCE. 


193 


my  man!"  said  he,  speaking  with  a  significant 
and  it  might  be,  an  insolent  accent. 

He  swung  down  towards  Nether  Neuk  with 
a  kind  of  defiance  in  his  gait,  which  set  him  not 
very  ill. 

He  had  come  directly  from  the  glade,  and 
he  went  towards  Nether  Neuk!  But  spite  of  my 
mother's  hints,  I  knew,  that  the  thing  suggested 
was  wholly  impossible.  Such  a  fellow  might  per- 
chance take  the  eyes  of  some  woman,  but  not 
of  Nance  Chrystie,  with  half  a  dozen  parishes 
to  choose  from — and  her  choice  already  made 
once  for  all. 

I  waited  till  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the 
misty  ridges  of  the  Orchar,  and  all  was  quiet 
about  the  farm  beneath.  Then  like  a  stalwart 
ghost,  I  cautiously  rounded  the  garden  and  out- 
buildings. 

The  pear-tree  made  a  dusky  umbrella  of  dark- 
ness as  I  overleaped  the  wall  and  stood  beneath 
it.  A  blackbird  sprang  away  with  an  indignant 
check-check  of  protestation.  He,  too,  had  con- 
sidered himself  settled  for  the  night,  so  that  he 
had  some  reason  to  be  aggrieved.  Besides,  he 
was  still  a  bachelor,  while  all  his  mates  had  taken 
domesticity  upon  them  weeks  before.  So  that 
he  had  constitutional  license  to  be  cross-grained. 

There  came  a  glancing  whiteness  about  the 


194 


LADS'   LOVE. 


little  strip  of  path  where  the  garden  joins  the 
orchard.  A  trip  of  a  light  foot,  and  my  heart 
bounding  so  fast  that  it  nearly  stumbled  as  it 
went! 

She  was  coming — coming  to  me!  It  was 
the  eternal  idyll  of  love — sometimes  its  trag- 
edy. 

And  to  the  pear-tree  came — the  Hempie. 

"  Nance  canna  come  juist  yet !  "  cried  the 
Hempie,  without  greeting  or  preamble,  as  soon 
as  she  came  near  enough,  "  she  has  been  oot  by, 
and  that  ugly  thief,  the  Braw  Packman  that  my 
father  is  so  fond  o',  is  sittin'  in  the  parlour,  so 
Nance  has  to  bide  till  Grace  comes  in  frae  the 
milk-hoose!  " 

"  Did  Nance  send  you  to  tell  me?  "  I  asked. 

"  Na,"  said  the  Hempie,  "  but  I  kenned  ye 
would  be  like  a  ragin'  Bull  o'  Bashan  oot  here. 
So  I  cam'  to  tell  ye,  to  keep  ye  frae  dinging  doon 
the  byre." 

"  Was  Nance  at  the  milking?  "  I  inquired. 

Instantly  the  Hempie  tendered  me  the  swift, 
keen  look  of  one  who,  from  a  hill-top  of  amplest 
information,  glances  down  to  see  how  much  an- 
other knows. 

"  No,"  she  answered  readily  enough,  "  she 
couldna  get  the  nicht." 

"  What  hindered  her?  " 


THE   PRINCESS   NANCE.  195 

"  I  think  she  had  had  a  sair  finger,  and  could- 
na'milk!" 

"  If  I  were  going  to  lie,  Hempie,  I  would  lie 
better  than  that." 

"  Very  like,"  retorted  the  Hempie,  with  much 
aplomb,  "  ye  hae  had  a  deal  mair  practice.  If 
there's  ony  mair  ye  want  to  ken  aboot  Nance, 
juist  ask  hersel'  when  she  comes — and  tell  her 
that  she's  leeinV 

And  the  Hempie  would  have  taken  herself  off 
in  a  huff,  had  I  not  run  after  and  captured  her, 
not  perhaps  all  unwilling.  She  had  grown  greatly 
since  I  saw  her,  and  her  dresses  were  made  almost 
to  her  ankles  now. 

I  mentioned  this  when  I  made  my  apologies 
and  congratulations,  but  asked  if  upon  occasion 
she  did  not  find  the  extra  length  difficult. 

"  O,"  said  the  Hempie,  looking  down,  as  if 
such  a  thing  had  never  suggested  itself  to  her 
before,  "  that  makes  less  difference  than  you 
would  think.  I  juist  haud  the  skirts  higher  up 
when  I  run,  that's  a'!  " 

A  door  shut  softly  somewhere.  The  gate 
clicked  sharply  between  us  and  the  house. 

"  I'm  awa',"  said  the  Hempie,  "  be  kind  to 
Nance.  Dinna  be  feared.  She  is  a'  your  ain. 
I  ken  Nance." 

Bless  the  wild  lass!  It  was  kindly  meant, 
14 


igfr  LADS'  LOVE. 

but  I  did  not  need  the  Hempie  to  tell  me 
that. 

Then  there  flushed  a  sudden  warmth  into  the 
air,  a  breathlessness  took  me  in  the  throat,  and 
a  certain  wondrous  proximity  which  I  felt  but 
had  not  time  to  see.  Then  came  a  blurr,  a  feeling 
that  I  must  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time,  a 
heart  beating  against  a  heart,  and  we  were  "  to- 
gether." Ah  wondrous  word!  Love's  Mecca  of 
prayer  and  pilgrimage. 

"Nance!" 

"Alec!" 

That,  for  a  space  and  a  space,  was  all  we  said. 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come!  " 

"  I  thought  I  should  never,  never  get  away!  " 

"  And  you  love  me  as  much ?  " 

"  You  are  sure  you ?  " 

Then  when  we  were  entirely  sure,  and  when 
we  had  quite  done  leading  the  proof  of  these 
important  allegations,  by  mutual  consent  a  truce 
was  called  to  look  at  one  another.  We  went 
back  a  step  to  hold  back  each  other's  heads  and 
study  them  critically  in  various  lights  between 
our  hands. 

"  Sweetheart,  you  are  far  bonnier  than  ever!  " 
"  Alec,  I  declare  your  moustache  has  grown. 
You  get  better  looking  every  day! " 


THE   PRINCESS   NANCE.  197 

Ye  gods!  what  was  my  diploma  after  that! 

O  sad-hearted,  drab-coloured  lives,  all  ye  who 
never  under  any  apple  tree,  the  joyous  green 
bower  of  bliss,  nor  beneath  the  friendly  shadowed 
portico  (ere  the  door  opens,  home — returning 
under  escort),  nor  yet  by  the  chance  thrice-happy 
street-lamp  which  the  wind  has  blown  out,  have 
tasted  the  goodliness  of  the  flower  of  life  and 
the  fruitage  thereof,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
I  pity  you.  You  have  never  suffered,  it  is  true 
— sacrificed,  sinned,  risen  to  the  skies,  fallen  to 
the  depths.  Ye  have  but  walked  the  official 
highway  and  felt  your  feet  grind  monotonously 
on  through  the  grey  dust  from  the  entrance 
gate  of  Life  to  its  last  turnstile — at  which  stands 
the  Angel  who  checks  the  records  and  bids  us 
turn  right  or  left.  Ye  have  missed  some  ill, 
doubtless.  But  have  ye  ever  found  the  Good? 
Ye  have  never  lived — no,  not  so  much  as  the 
myriad  birds  that  fly  northward  in  the  spring, 
to  build  their  nests  where  their  progenitors  did 
a  thousand  years  ago;  not  so  much  as  the  fish 
that  swarm  up  the  river,  chilly  lovers  they,  or 
the  stags  that  bray  defiance  to  each  other  across 
the  mountain  shoulders. 

"  You  were  not  at  the  milking  to-night, 
Nance?  "  I  said  presently. 


198 


LADS'   LOVE. 


I  saw  my  sweetheart  gradually  pale  to  the 
lips.  A  pitiful  look  came  into  those  sweetest 
eyes  of  hers. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Hempie?  "  she  asked  a 
little  faintly. 

"  She  was  here  just  before  you  came,"  I  an- 
swered. 

Nance  brightened  somewhat. 

"  Then  she  has  told  you " 

"  The  Hempie  told  me  nothing.  I  asked  her 
nothing.  You,  you  my  Nance,  shall  tell  me  just 
what  you  will." 

"  Ask  me,  Alec,"  she  said  a  little  faintly,  but 
with  very  true  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,  Nance,"  said  I,  "  were  you  in  the 
upper  wood  to-night?  " 

Her  face  grew  yet  more  pitifully  white,  and 
the  appeal  of  her  eyes  was  most  piteous. 

"  Alec,  laddie,"  she  rather  whispered  than 
spoke  the  words,  "  can  you  trust  me?  I  would 
tell  you  all  now,  but  it  is  not  my  secret — at  least 
not  for  a  little  longer.  Can  you  wait  a  while  to 
know?  Do  you  trust  your  little  love?  " 

"  My  sweetest,  do  not  be  grieved,"  I  said,  "  I 
can  wait  to  know  anything  as  long  as  you  like. 
Only  I  saw  some  one  dressed  like  you,  walking 
towards  the  wood  to-night  as  I  came.  I  called, 
'  Nance,  Nance ! '  You  ran  from  me — or  so  I 


THE   PRINCESS   NANCE. 


199 


thought.  And  then  I  could  not  find  you  though 
I  searched  the  wood  from  side  to  side." 

Nance  seemed  to  pause  a  moment,  as  if  about 
to  speak.  I  am  sure  that  one  doubtful  look 
would  have  made  her  tell  me  all  even  then.  But 
I  wished  her  to  know  the  length  and  breadth 
and  depth  of  my  confidence  in  her.  So  I  smiled 
and  said,  "  Nance,  lass,  I  do  not  wish  to  know. 
I  shall  know  all  that  is  good  for  me  to  know,  in 
my  love's  own  time." 

"Alec!"  cried  Nance,  softly,  throwing  her 
arms  about  my  neck  for  a  reward,  "  you  are  the 
true  lad — the  one  true  lover.  I  never  thought  it 
of  any  man.  That  is  the  way  I  want  to  be  loved. 
But  it  will  not  be  long.  You  shall  know  all  very 
soon.  And  then  you  will  love  me — yes,  you  will 
love  me  then." 

I  assured  her  that  this  was  a  most  unneces- 
sary conclusion,  for  that  I  could  not  possibly  love 
her  better  than  I  did  at  this  moment. 

"  O,  but  you  will,"  she  said,  nodding  her 
head  confidently.  And  she  looked  at  me  with 
a  grace  so  subtle  and  so  admirably  provocative, 
that  I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  as  if  it  had 
been  a  queen's. 

"  My  Princess!  "  I  said  with  fervour. 

She  stood  on  tiptoe,  and  taking  my  face  be- 
tween her  hands,  she  kissed  me  daintily,  like  a 


200  LADS'   LOVE. 

roseleaf  that  falls  on  your  face  as  you  lie  on  the 
grass  on  a  summer's  day. 

"  My  love!  "  she  said. 

We  heard  a  gate  click  again,  and  then  on 
the  orchard  path  a  light  uncertain  footstep.  It 
came  towards  us  irregularly,  with  pauses  as  if 
the  owner  were  listening  or  watching. 

The  pear  tree  under  which  we  stood,  was 
high,  many  branched,  and  thick  of  leaves. 

"  Up  with  you,  Nance,"  I  whispered,  "  it  may 
be  your  father! " 

I  took  her  hand,  and  in  a  trice  we  were  seated 
high  up  within  the  wide  spring  of  a  branch  which 
leaned  towards  the  wall  of  the  byre.  It  was  an 
obvious  risk,  but  Nance  and  I  had  all  our  cards 
on  the  table  at  any  rate.  And  I  thought  that 
if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst — why,  both  she 
and  I  were  of  age,  and  I  could  take  her  away. 
I  was  a  man  (with  a  diploma)  and  I  felt  equal 
to  providing  for  the  one  woman  in  the  world. 

After  some  minutes,  which  to  us  seemed 
hours,  a  dark,  tall  figure  appeared  under  the  pear 
tree,  and  stood  almost  immediately  beneath  us. 
It  was  not  Nance's  father,  but — Mr.  Nathan 
Murdoch! 

He  paused,  listening  hard  and  eagerly.  His 
head  was  bent  forward  and  he  moved  with  a  pe- 
culiar clumsy  alacrity.  He  looked  this  way  and 


THE   PRINCESS   NANCE.  2QI 

that,  like  a  wild  beast  stalking  its  prey.  He 
peeped  cautiously  round  the  corner  of  the  byre 
to  make  sure  that  he  was  unobserved.  Then  he 
climbed  the  wall  and  disappeared  up  the  way  to 
the  hill  where  I  had  first  seen  him. 

I  felt  my  poor  little  love  tremble  as  she  rested 
in  the  hollow  of  my  arm. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked,  "are  you 
cold?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hate  that  man,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am 
afraid  of  him." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LOVE-MAKING  WITH   A   DIFFERENCE. 

I  was  not  long  in  making  the  closer  acquaint- 
ance of  the  "  Braw  Packman."  Whinnyliggate 
has  few  recreations,  save  those  of  standing  about 
the  bridge  on  summer  evenings,  and  in  quietly 
subdued  tones,  talking  over  its  own  domestic 
affairs. 

But  in  addition  it  has  its  quoiting-green. 

Before  I  had  taken  it  into  my  head,  that  it 
was  the  proper  and  whole  duty  of  man  to  sally 
forth  a-nights  to  "  see  the  lasses "  at  Nether 
Neuk  and  elsewhere,  I  had  given  many  hours  to 
the  study  of  this  most  ancient  art  of  casting  the 
disc  of  metal  through  the  air,  and  sending  it  ring- 
ing against  the  pin.  I  even  laid  down  a  "  rink  " 
at  home  with  well-moistened  clay  from  the  Folds 
Burn.  And  there  with  the  serving-man  and 
sometimes  a  neighbouring  lad  or  two,  the  nights 
were  shortened  by  the  ringing  clank  of  quoit 
on  quoit  as  a  good  shot  was  covered  by  a  better, 


LOVE-MAKING   WITH   A   DIFFERENCE. 


203 


or  enlivened  by  the  shouts  of  triumph  as  the 
guide-paper  was  snatched  from  the  pin-head  and 
buried  deep  in  the  clay. 

One  evening  I  had  been  down  at  the  village 
on  some  errand  for  my  father,  and  I  chanced 
to  pass  the  village-green,  the  scene  of  many  a 
struggle  and  many  a  victory  in  the  old  pre- 
Nancian  days.  An  unwonted  crowd  was  stand- 
ing by  the  gate,  and  in  the  midst  I  saw  Mr.  Na- 
than Murdoch,  a  glow  of  confident  pleasure  on 
his  face. 

"  There's  a  lad  that  will  lower  your  flag,  Na- 
than Murdoch!  "  cried  someone  in  the  crowd. 

Half  a  dozen  voices  hailed  me. 

"  Come  here,  young  Drumquhat,  here's  a  man 
wagering  a  pound  note  that  he  can  play  ony 
man  in  the  pairish  of  Whinnyliggate." 

Now  very  certainly  I  had  no  desire  to  play 
for  money.  More  than  that  I  had  no  pound  to 
spare.  But  a  substantial  farmer,  James  Campbell 
of  the  Black  Craig,  ran  out  to  meet  me. 

"  For  the  credit  of  the  pairish  and  his  ain 
sowl's  guid,"  he  said,  speaking  earnestly  and 
privily  to  me,  "  gi'e  the  puir  blawin'  craitur  his 
licks.  And  here's  the  pound  to  do  it  with!  " 

With  that  he  thrust  his  arm  through  mine, 
and  fairly  dragged  me  into  the  quoiting-ground. 

"  And  is  this  the  herd  laddie  that  is  to  play 


204  LADS'  LOVF- 

me?  "  Murdoch  cried  tauntingly,  when  he  saw 
me,  "  me  that  lickit  Taylor,  that  stood  up  to 
Walkinshaw  five  times,  and  beat  him  every 
time " 

A  pair  of  quoits  were  thrust  into  my  hands. 
I  had  indeed  a  dozen  pairs  to  choose  from,  for 
the  vanity  and  pretence  of  the  Packman  had 
been  past  endurance.  Much  as  Whinnyliggate 
adored  financial  success,  it  loved  still  more  to 
see  a  boaster  laid  low.  We  were  soon  in  the 
midst  of  the  game,  and  I  found  that  though  the 
Packman  could  boast,  he  could  also  play  at 
quoits.  Not  only  so,  but  he  was  good  enough 
to  accompany  every  successful  shot  of  mine  with 
such  remarks  as  "What  a  fluke!"  "Lord,  that 
was  a  lucky  ane!  "  While  each  of  his  own,  if  it 
fell  anywhere  near  the  pin,  was  a  signal  for  jubila- 
tion among  his  tail  of  sycophants. 

Slowly  the  score  mounted.  Rung  by  alternate 
rung  we  over-climbed  each  other.  We  were 
"  twenty  all  "  and  the  game  as  usual  was  twenty- 
one.  One  more  "  end  "  would  finish  it.  The 
Packman  had  won  the  previous  shot.  He  was 
croosely  confident.  His  first  quoit  fell  within 
three  inches  of  the  pin.  Mine  followed  better 
by  an  inch.  He  cast  his  last  with  great  care  and 
skill,  for  it  rested  half  on  my  first  quoit  and  half 
on  the  head  of  the  pin,  hiding  the  paper  com- 


LOVE-MAKING  WITH    A   DIFFERENCE.        205 

pletely  from  my  view.  I  walked  to  where  I  could 
see  the  problem  which  I  had  to  solve  with  my 
single  remaining  heavy  disc  of  iron.  It  was  con- 
sidered barely  possible  that  I  could  shift  him. 
Still,  I  thought  it  might  be  done.  The  whole 
green  held  its  breath.  The  quoit  sped,  and  as 
soon  as  it  had  left  my  hand  I  felt  sure  that  the 
shot  would  succeed.  The  rim  of  my  quoit,  de- 
scending, took  Murdoch's  on  the  extreme  edge 
with  a  ringing  sound,  sending  it  several  yards 
away,  and  lay  dead  in  its  place!  A  shout  went 
up.  I  had  won  the  match  with  a  shot  to  spare, 
for  my  other  quoit  lay  but  an  inch  behind  the 
first. 

James  Campbell  of  the  Black  Craig  shouted 
uproariously  and  slapped  his  thigh.  He  had 
made  several  bets  besides  the  principal  stake. 
He  was,  therefore,  in  high  good  humour,  and 
went  about  "  uplifting  "  his  money  from  the  de- 
pressed supporters  of  Nathan  Murdoch. 

"  Young  Drumquhat  will  maybe  no  win  back 
Nance  Chrystie  so  easy!"  I  heard  one  of  the 
Packman's  sycophants  say,  with  the  obvious  in- 
tent that  I  should  overhear  him.  Dick  Hamilton 
was  the  name  of  him.  He  was  the  son  of  the 
village  shop-keeper.  He  followed  the  braw  Pack- 
man afar  off,  wore  the  same  kind  of  ties,  and 
had  similar  tastes  in  the  matter  of  hair-oil. 


206  LADS'   LOVE. 

"Say  that  again!"  I  said,  turning  to  him 
abruptly. 

He  laughed  fleeringly,  with,  nevertheless,  a 
certain  trembling  in  his  mirth. 

"  I  said  it  once!  "  he  answered  glibly  enough. 

There  was  a  low  wooden  paling  round  the 
quoiting-green,  and  beyond  that  the  road  ran 
westward,  straight  into  the  red  eye  of  the  setting 
sun. 

"  Once  is  enough  for  me!  "  I  said,  for  I  had 
no  words  to  waste  on  Dick  Hamilton.  So  I 
knocked  him  clean  over  the  paling  on  to  the  road, 
where  he  lay  spread  all  abroad,  like  a  corn  sheaf 
that  has  been  ill-banded. 

"  Hey,  what's  that?  "  cried  Murdoch,  coming 
towards  me  in  a  hurry. 

"  Just  a  small  matter  between  Mr.  Hamilton 
and  myself!"  I  said  pleasantly.  "Would  you 
like  to  say  over  again  to  Mr.  Murdoch  what  you 
said  before?  "  I  asked  of  Dick  as  he  gathered 
himself  up. 

But  Dick  thought  better  of  it,  and  only  grunt- 
ed truculently  as  he  walked  away. 

As  soon  as  I  won  clear  of  the  village,  I  saw 
before  me  the  long  ridge  of  Ben  Gairn  flushing 
red  with  the  evening  sun,  and  the  moors  running 
smoothly  westward  in  overlapping  folds  of  gold 
and  green.  Instinctively  I  quickened  my  pace. 


LOVE-MAKING  WITH    A   DIFFERENCE. 


207 


Nether  Neuk  could  be  reached  from  this  side  as 
well  as  from  the  hill  on  which  I  was  wont  to  look 
my  sheep.  Already  I  could  see  the  sacred  tree- 
tops  about  it,  though  the  white  houses  were 
hidden. 

A  girl  was  walking  demurely  towards  me,  as 
I  turned  the  second  corner,  and  at  last  glimpsed 
the  white  gables  of  the  Chrysties'  farm.  My 
heart  leaped  wildly.  "  What  is  Nance  doing  on 
her  way  to  the  village,  when  she  is  trysted  to 
meet  me  by  our  pear  tree?  "  I  thought. 

But  when  I  came  nearer,  I  saw  that  this  was 
not  Nance,  but  a  girl,  duskier  of  skin  and  a  trifle 
less  tall,  with  great,  dark,  vague  eyes — eyes  that 
I  had  seen  somewhere  before.  I  could  not  for 
the  moment  think  where.  She  flushed  as  she 
looked  up  at  me,  and  quickened  her  pace  to  pass 
without  speech.  Then  in  a  moment  I  knew  her. 

"  What!  The  Hoolet!  "  I  exclaimed  in  com- 
plete astonishment. 

The  girl  stopped,  embarrassed,  and  looked 
down  at  her  dress. 

"  Why,  you  have  grown  a  young  lady  all  at 
once!  "  I  cried,  stepping  back  to  look  at  her. 

"  Aye?  "  she  said  slowly,  "  ye  think  so,  Alec!  " 

"  I  thought  for  a  moment  you  were  Nance!  " 
I  replied,  paying  her  the  highest  compliment  in 
my  power. 


208  LADS'   LOVE. 

The  girl  smiled  more  frankly. 

"  Ye  wad  be  sair  disappointed,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  at  least  I  am  proud  to  see  you  so 
bonny  and  so  well  put  on,"  I  answered  cheerily. 

The  girl  lifted  her  hand  and  looked  at  the 
well-fitting  glove,  upon  the  long  wrinkled  wrist 
of  which  was  clasped  a  bracelet  of  gold. 

"  Aye,  is  it  no  bonny?  "  she  said,  a  little  wist- 
fully, as  a  child  might,  and  then  after  looking 
long  at  it,  she  dropped  the  arm  again  slackly  to 
her  side. 

I  did  not  keep  her  longer,  because  in  fact  I 
had  an  engagement  elsewhere  which  I  did  not 
greatly  desire  to  put  off,  and  also  because  the 
girl  was  palpably  uneasy  as  she  stood  making 
crosses  in  the  dust  of  the  road  with  the  narrow 
toe  of  her  boot. 

"  Guid-e'en  to  ye,  Hoolet — or  Miss  'Lizbeth, 
we  will  hae  to  say  after  this!"  I  said,  smiling 
to  her. 

"  Guid-nicht!  "  she  answered  softly,  with  her 
eyes  still  on  the  ground.  And  without  another 
word  she  moved  away  and  left  me  standing. 

As  I  walked  slowly  towards  Nether  Neuk,  I 
thought  of  the  surprising  change  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Hoolet  since  last  I  had  seen  her,  a 
ragged,  curly-pated  scarecrow.  She  had  not  the 
free  swinging  gait  and  erect  carriage  of  my  lass, 


LOVE-MAKING  WITH   A   DIFFERENCE.        209 

but  so  far  as  dress  went,  she  was  a  fairly  exact 
copy.  I  could  see  that  Nance  Chrystie  had  been 
the  Hoolet's  model.  Or  might  it  not  be  that  my 
generous  Nance  had  given  her  an  outfit  from 
her  own  scanty  wardrobe?  If  this  were  so,  I 
pictured  to  myself,  with  pleasure  in  the  thought, 
Peter  Chrystie's  disgust  if  he  knew  that  the 
Lazy  Taed's  ragged  lass  was  masquerading  to 
the  village  in  the  garments  bought  with  his  well- 
spared  siller. 

Nance  was  at  the  tree  before  me.  As  I 
jumped  the  dyke  I  could  see  her  impatiently 
stripping  a  pliant  twig  of  willow  between  her 
fingers.  She  had  a  scarlet  shawl  thrown  care- 
lessly about  her  shoulders.  It  had  fallen  a  little 
back  and  dropped  over  one  well-gowned  arm — I 
have  no  words  to  tell  how  charmingly. 

"  Ye  are  a  nice  anxious  lad,  Alec,  to  let  me 
be  first  at  the  tryst  by  half  an  hour!  "  she  cried, 
before  I  reached  her.  I  knew  by  the  clear,  un- 
guarded tones  of  her  voice  that  her  father  was 
not  in  the  vicinity  of  Nether  Neuk. 

I  made  my  peace  without  difficulty  and  ex- 
plained the  matter  of  the  quoiting-match.  As 
soon  as  she  heard  of  it  she  laughed  lightly. 

"  O,  of  course,  you  beat  Nathan  Murdoch," 
she  said  confidently,  patting  me  on  the  arm  with 
a  quick,  proud  movement  characteristic  of  her. 


2io  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  There  was  no  '  of  course '  about  it,  I  can 
tell  you,"  said  I,  a  little  crossly,  "  he  was  none 
so  easy  to  beat !  " 

"  But  you  beat  him  —  yes,  I  knew  you 
would!" 

"  And  how  could  you  know,  Nance?  " 

"Why,  because  you  are  my  lad!"  she  said, 
looking  boldly  at  me. 

"  Because  I  won  you  that  were  so  hard  to 
win,"  I  answered,  "  you  think  that  everything 
else  is  simply  '  ask  '  and  '  have  ' — '  want '  and 
'take!'" 

Nance's  reply  could  hardly  be  called  a  toss  of 
the  head.  It  was  a  movement  so  slight,  at  once 
so  deliciously  insolent  and  so  graceful,  that  it 
might  be  called  rather  the  spiritual  essence,  the 
disembodied  ghost  of  that  disdainful  gesture. 

Nance  Chrystie  had  been  too  often  told  of  her 
worth  and  beauty  to  have  any  mock-modest 
doubts  as  to  her  own  value.  She  knew  she  was 
worth  the  winning,  and  the  delicious  pout  with 
which  she  closed  the  discussion  was  at  once 
apology  for  the  past,  provocation  in  the  present, 
and  forewarning  of  the  future. 

"  You  have  saddled  yourself  with  a  bonny 
handful!  "  she  said,  smiling.  "Are  ye  no  feared 
to  gang  to  your  bed  at  nichts,  Alec  McQuhirr? 
Will  ye  no  tak'  your  ring  back  again?" 


LOVE-MAKING  WITH   A  DIFFERENCE.        211 

And  the  monkey  held  out  her  left  hand  with 
the  Water-of-Dee  pearls  shining  mistily  upon  it. 

I  took  the  hand  and  reverently  kissed  the  ring, 
as  my  mother  had  told  me  she  had  once  seen  the 
Old  Laird  do  to  her  own  mother  at  a  country- 
dance,  before  he  led  off  the  tenants'  ball  with  her. 
For  I  reverenced  Nance  as  well  as  loved  her,  and 
I  did  not  know  how  else  to  show  her  how  deep 
was  my  respect,  how  loyal  my  worship. 

Nor  did  I  go  unrewarded.  Nance  looked  up 
at  me  at  once  quickly  and  shyly. 

"  You  are  different  from  everybody,"  she  said, 
with  her  eyes  shining  upon  me,  "  do  you  know 
that  you  are  the  dearest  thing,  Alec.  I  am  glad 
I  promised  to  marry  you.  You  can  kiss  me  just 
once  for  that!  " 

After  a  pause  of  contentment  she  went  on. 

"  But  you  are,  you  know "  she  seemed  to 

be  explaining  the  matter  more  for  her  own  satis- 
faction than  mine.  "  You  make  love  with  a  dif- 
ference." 

"  Do  I  make  love,  Nance?  "  I  said,  for  to  my 
mind  love  made  itself  whenever  Nance  was  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

"  You  never  did  anything  else,  since  I  ever 
knew  you!  "  she  answered  pertly. 

"Nance!" 

The  minx  nodded  three  times  as  if  that  set- 
is 


212  LADS'    LOVE. 

tied  the  question.  Never  had  I  seen  my  lass  so 
careless,  so  dainty,  so  prettily  defiant,  so  deli- 
ciously  wayward. 

"  Nance,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  whom 
I  met  and  talked  to  as  I  came  along  the  road  to- 
night?" 

"  Somebody  coming  courting  me,  no  doubt," 
she  said  in  her  coolest  manner. 

"  Rab  Anderson's  Hoolet!  "  I  answered,  look- 
ing directly  at  her. 

Like  a  candle  that  is  extinguished,  the  light 
went  out  of  her  face.  The  careless  smile  vanished 
from  her  lips.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  someone 
had  struck  her  in  the  face. 

"  The  Hoolet !  "  she  quavered.  "  You  saw  the 
Hoolet!" 

I  watched  her  keenly. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  the  Hoolet!  What  of  that? 
You  have  been  giving  her  some  of  your  clothes, 
too.  What  would  your  father  say  if  he  knew, 
you  extravagant  monkey?  " 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  my  father 
might  say  if  he  knew  everything!  "  answered 
Nance  significantly,  recovering  herself  somewhat, 
"  but  what  did  the  Hoolet  say  to  you?  " 

"  Nothing  about  you,  Nance,  little  girl,"  I 
answered  cheerily.  For  I  saw  there  was  some- 
thing that  she  feared  my  knowing,  and  I  had  too 


"  Will  ye  no  tak'  your  ring  back  again  ?  " 


LOVE-MAKING   WITH   A   DIFFERENCE. 


213 


great  love  and  confidence  in  my  love  to  care  what 
it  was.  But  strangely  enough,  Nance  did  not 
seem  nearly  so  much  relieved  as  I  had  expected. 
"  Poor  Hoolet,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  Then 
after  a  pause,  again — "poor,  poor  Hoolet!" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

EPHRAIM  IS  JOINED  TO  HIS  IDOLS. 

It  was  after  this  meeting  that  I  first  judged 
the  Hoolet  to  be  in  deep  waters.  Nance,  I  saw, 
was  at  least  partly  in  the  secret,  but  for  some 
reason  she  dared  not  tell  me  all  she  knew.  Per- 
haps it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had.  At 
anyrate  I  was  obliged  to  attempt  a  discovery  or 
two  for  myself. 

It  was  about  this  time,  for  instance,  that  I 
became  a  poacher.  I  do  not  mean  an  occasional 
trespasser  and  amateur  (as  it  were),  but  a  pro- 
fessional nightly  frequenter  of  the  woods,  habit 
and  repute,  acquainted  with  every  run  of  hare, 
each  form,  lair,  and  rabbit-hole,  roosting-place 
of  pheasant  and  couching  covert  of  grouse  and 
partridge.  In  a  word,  I  went  into  partnership 
with  Rab  An'erson. 

Now  recent  game  legislation  has  made  less 
difference  in  Galloway  than  in  any  other  part  of 

the  Queen's  dominions.    The  farmers  now  do  by 

214 


EPHRAIM    IS  JOINED   TO   HIS   IDOLS.          215 

day  what  formerly  had  to  be  done  under  cloud 
of  night.  Indeed  the  Game  Laws  have  always 
been  singularly  honoured  in  the  breach  through- 
out the  Ancient  Free  Province.  And  there  are 
few,  whether  tenant's  son,  cottar's  son — aye,  or 
laird's  son  either,  born  'twixt  Nith-bank  and  the 
Back  Shore  of  the  Shire,  who  cannot  charge  their 
memory  with  sundry  crimes  of  night  trespass  in 
pursuit  of  game,  committed  upon  lands  where 
certainly  they  had  no  legal  business.  It  is  the 
modern  substitute  for  the  smuggling  of  the  last 
century,  and  perhaps  also  for  the  raiding  and 
moss-trooping  of  the  century  before  that. 

Rab  An'erson  was  known  to  be  a  poacher, 
but  nobody  thought  any  the  worse  of  him  for 
that.  Indeed  his  very  dogs  betrayed  him — 
smooth-haired,  long-limbed,  slinking  lurchers 
which  in  the  day-time  yawned  and  slept  about  the 
back  premises  of  his  cottage  under  the  covering 
fringe  of  the  Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax.  Like  their 
master,  they  only  fully  waked  up  at  night.  Then 
the  elaborate  listlessness  of  their  daily  behaviour 
changed  instantly  to  keen  alertness,  as  soon  as 
Rab  An'erson  came  slouching  in  and  began  to 
put  on  his  leggings,  and  lay  out  the  tools  of  his 
trade  in  due  order  on  the  bed,  as  one  of  my  own 
profession  does  before  a  difficult  surgical  opera- 
tion. 


2i6  LADS'   LOVE. 

There  were  mysterious  things  hidden  away  in 
that  curious  rickle  of  wooden  shanties,  old  tar 
barrels,  hen-coops,  and  general  conglomerate  dt- 
bris  in  the  rear  of  Rab's  hut,  many  of  the  dark 
secrets  of  which  were  know  only  to  the  Hoolet 
and  the  De'il. 

On  the  top  there  were  bundles  of  slim,  supple, 
wicker  wands  ready  for  the  making  of  baskets, 
at  which  Rab  was  a  great  expert.  Under  pre- 
carious coverture  were  stowed  away  coulters, 
plough-handles,  "  shilblins  "  or  red  cart  top-rails 
of  various  design,  corn-feed  dishes,  bushel  meas- 
ures, milking-pails, — which  last,  however,  would 
only  have  known  themselves  under  the  name  of 
"  luggies."  Then  there  were  dozens  of  iron  har- 
row-teeth, and  nailed  inside  the  back  door  of  the 
hut  the  antlers  of  a  deer  fixed  upon  a  brazen 
plate  (supposed  to  have  wandered  off  by  itself 
from  the  big  house  at  the  time  of  the  spring- 
cleaning,  the  De'il  having  been  seen  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood about  the  same  time). 

In  the  barrels  at  the  back  dwelled  dogs  of 
high  and  low  degree.  Some  of  them  had,  as  the 
advertisements  say,  "  followed  a  gentleman  " — 
that  is,  they  came  to  the  Lang  Wood  of  Lar- 
brax  in  rear  of  the  De'il  or  his  father,  with  a  rope 
round  their  necks,  and  their  feet  firmly  braced 
against  the  ground.  If  the  animal  was  advertised 


EPHRAIM    IS  JOINED   TO  HIS   IDOLS.          217 

for  in  the  Cairn  Edward  Advertiser  (with  a  prom- 
ise of  a  reward),  the  De'il  was  despatched  to  ar- 
range matters.  And  then  the  siller  having  been 
passed  over,  "  Caesar  "  or  "  Yarrow  "  was  duly 
returned,  after  sundry  experiences  which,  alas,  he 
could  not  communicate  to  his  loving  master,  and 
in  addition  an  entirely  new  breed  of  fleas  to 
scratch  for  in  his  leisure  time,  which  however 
were  quite  transferable.  But  if  there  was  no  ad- 
vertisement, and  no  reward — well,  there  followed 
after  the  lapse  of  a  certain  time  a  plunge  in  the 
Loch  some  dark  night,  and  the  accommodation 
of  a  barrel  was  again  "  to  let,"  under  the  shades 
of  the  Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax. 

Yet  Rob  was  both  a  kindly  and  a  popular 
character.  He  took  the  hares  and  the  pheasants 
it  is  true;  but,  after  all,  the  farmers  would  infi- 
nitely rather  that  Rab  had  them  than  that  they 
should  go  to  the  Cairn-Edward  game  dealer 
patronised  by  the  "  big  hoose." 

Besides,  after  a  successful  night  on  any  farm, 
there  was  always  a  couple  of  brace  reposing  on 
the  dyke  in  the  front  of  the  house  when  the 
farmer's  wife  went  out  in  the  morning.  These, 
in  process  of  time,  found  their  way  into  the  pot; 
and  if  the  farmer  was  a  wise  man,  ultimately  into 
his  stomach,  without  a  single  question  asked  to 
indicate  a  knowledge  of  whence  they  came.. 


2l8  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  They  are  fine  bit  chuckies,  guidwife,"  he 
might  say;  "were  they  no  layin'  weel  that  ye 
drew  their  necks?  " 

"  O,  weel  eneuch,  but  they  were  desperate 
fond  o'  wanderin'  awa'  into  the  woods,"  the  lady 
of  the  house  would  reply  without  a  smile. 

"  Aweel,  they  will  hae  a  chance  o'  bidin'  near 
hame  noo!  "  the  guidman  would  say  with  equal 
seriousness,  as  he  helped  himself  to  the  other  leg. 

Nor  did  the  gamekeepers  and  water-bailiffs — 
the  "  watchers  "  as  they  were  called — trouble 
their  heads  much  about  sleepy  Rab.  After  all, 
they  knew  that  he  poached  solely  for  home  con- 
sumption. He  undertook  no  export  traffic;  and 
besides,  there  was  something  about  the  slow, 
good-humoured  giant  which  it  was  best  to  let 
alone.  They  knew  the  "  Taed  "  for  a  sleeping 
dog  that  had  better  be  allowed  to  wake  of  his 
own  accord. 

Also,  was  it  not  recorded  in  the  annals  of  the 
"  watchers  "  how  that  once  upon  a  time,  a  newly 
appointed  "  gamey,"  unacquainted  with  Rab  An'- 
erson,  had  gone  to  Rab's  cottage  to  see  if  he 
could  see  anything  of  fur  or  feather,  which  might 
explain  the  clean  sweep  of  his  cherished  coverts 
the  night  before.  Before  he  rounded  the  angle 
of  the  cottage,  and  just  as  he  paused  to  look 
through  the  little  gable  window,  his  trained  ear 


EPHRAIM    IS  JOINED   TO   HIS   IDOLS.          219 

heard  the  unmistakable  sound  made  by  the  cock- 
ing of  a  well-oiled  lock;  and  lo,  there,  within  a 
foot  of  his  head,  protruded  from  a  broken  pane 
the  wicked  muzzle  of  an  ancient  musket.  There 
was  not  a  foot  stirring  about  the  place.  Sabbath 
silence  brooded  over  it.  But  that  grim  powder- 
blackened  eye  followed  the  intrusive  "  gamey  " 
everywhere  he  went.  So  that  in  five  minutes  he 
was  making  a  straight  course  down  the  hill,  never 
again  to  explore  on  any  consideration  the  mys- 
teries of  Rab  An'erson's  unwholesome  domains. 

I  had  arranged  with  Rab  that  he  was  to  meet 
me  at  the  march-dyke,  in  my  capacity  as  poach- 
er's assistant,  one  chilly  autumnal  night  when  the 
tryst  by  the  pear  tree  in  the  orchard  could  not 
be  arranged,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  farmer  of 
Nether  Neuk  was  entertaining  a  party  within 
doors,  which  included  the  now  wholly  reconciled 
lairds  of  Butterhole  and  Sourdubs,  as  well  as  the 
Braw  Packman  himself. 

So  at  the  appointed  time  I  repaired  to  the 
hill,  and  there,  seated  on  two  adjacent  tufts  of 
heather,  I  found  my  father  and  Rab  An'erson. 
I  kept  unobtrusively  on  the  lower  side  of  the  dyke 
and  listened  quietly.  My  father  might  have  taken 
me  home  with  him  if  I  had  ventured  to  join  the 
pair.  For  even  at  twenty-one  (I  say  it  with 
pride)  and  with  a  diploma  in  my  pocket,  I  should 


220  LADS'    LOVE. 

not  have  dreamed  of  disobeying  my  father. 
Nevertheless  I  listened  to  their  confabulation. 

Saunders  M'Quhirr,  like  the  douce  Cameroni- 
an  elder  that  he  was,  was  endeavouring  to  win 
Rab  the  poacher  from  the  error  of  his  ways. 

"  Rab,"  he  was  saying  with  a  grave  earnest- 
ness which  sat  well  on  his  serious  face,  "  this  will 
never  do — ye  maun  gie  up  the  poachin',  lad.  I 
saw  the  '  gameys  '  after  ye  late  yestreen.  Ye  will 
be  gripped  and  gaoled  some  o'  thae  days.  Be- 
sides the  birds  are  no  in  season  yet." 

"  Dod,  Drumquhat,"  said  Rab,  "  when  we  get 
the  feathers  aff  them  and  the  bonny  darlin's  in 
the  pot,  they  are  aye  in  season  in  Rab  An'erson's 
cot-house.  His  family  is  neither  dorty,  nor  yet 
hard  to  please." 

"  I  could  gie  ye  a  job  at  the  herdin'  mysel'," 
said  my  father,  "  that  wad  pay  ye  better  than 
Peter's,  if  ye  wad  gie  up  this  ill-contrived  poach- 
in'  and  nicht  wark." 

"  That  is  desperate  kind  o'  ye,  Drumquhat, 
and  poor  Rab  will  no  forget  it;  but  it  will  no  do 
either  for  you  or  me.  Ye  see  it's  in  the  bluid. 
They  say  the  father  o'  me  was  a  gipsy.  My  mither 
mair  nor  jaloosed  as  muckle  hersel'.  Man,  Drum- 
quhat, even  when  I  was  a  laddie  o'  ten,  I  hae 
ferrited  rabbits  under  the  very  windows  o'  the 
auld  laird's  castle." 


EPHRAIM   IS  JOINED  TO   HIS   IDOLS.         221 

My  father  shook  his  head  in  a  kind  of  hope- 
less protest. 

"  Na,  Saunders  M'Quhirr,  ye  mean  weel,"  the 
Ishmael  of  Whinnyliggate  went  on,  "  but  it's  lit- 
tle use.  I'll  poach  as  lang  as  I  leeve,  as  lang 
as  I  see  ane  o'  the  bonny,  lang-leggit,  grey  cattle 
playin'  about  their  forms  and  holies  or  scoorin' 
the  field  in  the  gloamin'  wi'  her  lugs  clappit  and 
legs  like  a  racer!  As  for  the  pheasants,  the  sicht 
o'  them  fair  gars  my  heart  gang  wallop,  wallop 
against  my  ribs.  The  very  rabbits  doon  there  by 
the  bank-side,  are  they  no  braw  and  denty  wi' 
their  sleek  bit  sides  and  their  white  tails  cockit, 
jookin'  like  butterflies  amang  the  grass?  Do  ye 
see  that  ane,  Drumquhat?"  he  cried  eagerly,  as 
he  pointed  with  his  finger  at  a  rabbit  which  poked 
its  head  inquisitively  out  of  its  burrow  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  popped  back  again  in  a  fright. 
"  That  auld  craitur  has  a  family  o'  fowr  doon 
under  the  bank  there — in  the  second  hole  on  the 
left  o'  the  auld  stump  at  the  tap  o'  the  brae." 

"  Rab,"  said  my  father,  "  ye  dinna  mean  to 
tell  me  that  ye  ken  every  rabbit  in  the  country- 
side by  head-mark,  as  if  they  were  folk  ganging 
to  tjie  kirk." 

"  Ow  aye,"  said  Rab  calmly,  "  that's  the  only 
way  to  poach.  Ye  maun  ken  every  rabbit  within 
three  mile,  every  pheasant  near  and  far  by  the 


222  LADS'  LOVE. 

cock  o'  his  tail,  where  he  was  reared  and  where 
he  sleeps.  The  black  woods  maun  be  your  dwell- 
ing hoose  and  the  muckle  grey  fields  your  kail- 
yaird.  The  cloud  o'  nicht  is  your  best  friend  and 
the  quarter  moon  your  stable  lantern.  Ye  maun 
be  mair  at  hame  in  the  fir  covers  than  in  your 
ain  back  kitchen.  Ow  aye,  the  bit  dogs  and  me 
— we  are  fell  fond  o'  the  big  grey  anes  wi'  the 
lang  lugs,  and  also  o'  the  wee  hotchin'  anes  wi'  the 
white  tails.  But  we  like  them  a'  best  wi'  this 
bonny  brass  collar  on!  " 

And  the  poacher  held  up  for  the  elder's  in- 
spection, a  beautifully  made  wire  "grin"  or  snare, 
of  which  he  always  carried  an  assortment  in  his 
pocket. 

I  could  hear  my  father  rise,  and  balance  him- 
self on  his  staff.  He  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Ephraim  is  joined  to  his  idols,  I  misdoot," 
he  said  sententiously,  as  he  prepared  to  take  his 
departure. 

"  Verra  likely,"  said  Rab,  "  I  am  no  weel  ac- 
quaint wi'  Ephraim." 

"Quid  nicht!"  said  my  father  shortly,  and 
betook  himself  along  the  dykeside  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Drumquhat.  He  was  going  I  knew  to 
"  tak'  the  Buik,"  and  it  gave  me  a  pain  (very 
transitory,  however),  to  think  that  I  would  not 
be  present  at  the  evening  act  of  devotion. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
A  POACHER'S  NIGHT. 

Rab  An'erson  nodded  as  I  came  over  the 
dyke. 

"  I  heard  ye,  Alec,"  he  said,  "  ye  cam'  up 
there  like  a  rampin',  blunderin'  bull.  I  wonder 
your  faither  did  not  hear  ye!  " 

Now  I  thought  I  had  stolen  upon  them  like 
a  shadow,  but  before  morning  Rab  was  to  show 
me  what  still-hunting  meant. 

He  gathered  his  traps  about  him  from  various 
holes  and  corners  of  the  dyke,  and  in  a  minute  we 
were  at  the  edge  of  the  woods.  There  the  whole 
nature  of  the  man  seemed  to  change.  His  daily 
habit  of  "  Lazy  Taed  "  dropped  from  him  as  one 
drops  his  cloak  before  a  race. 

His  two  lurcher  dogs  slunk  behind  his  foot- 
steps with  their  heads  down,  till  they  struck  a 
hot  trail.  Then  they  too  appeared  to  change, 
and  with  erect  ears  and  swift  silent  steps  they 

were  off. 

223 


224 


LADS'   LOVE. 


Such  dogs  are  worth  a  fortune  to  a  poacher 
like  Rab.  The  keeper,  if  he  knows  his  business, 
always  tries  by  poison  or  lead,  to  lay  such  animals 
a  foot  or  two  under  the  sod.  For  a  dog  which 
will  hunt  at  nicht  without  a  sound,  and  obediently 
and  certainly  bring  to  its  master  its  entire  "  kill," 
is  not  to  be  replaced  within  a  week  nor  yet  with- 
in a  year. 

We  plunged  into  the  dark,  dewy  shades  of 
the  woods.  Birches  flung  down  their  fragrant 
sprays  on  our  heads.  Fir  spines  rained  thickly 
on  my  bonnet  and  slid  down  the  hollow  of 
my  neck  as  I  followed  Rab  upon  all  fours, 
head  down  like  a  beast  of  the  chase  on  a  quick 
scent. 

Soon  we  found  ourselves  in  the  undergrowth 
of  the  best  coverts,  not  far  from  the  "  big  hoose." 
The  darkness  closed  about  us  like  a  vault.  Yet  in 
spite  of  it,  Rab  Anderson  made  his  way  infallibly 
wherever  he  meant  to  go,  running  rapidly  on  his 
hands  and  the  points  of  his  toes,  yet  instinctively 
avoiding  the  dry  branch  which  would  snap  under 
his  weight,  and  the  crisp  twig  which  might  break 
with  a  crack  sufficient  to  frighten  the  shy, 
suspicious  quarry  of  the  woods,  or  bring  the 
equally  suspicious  human  "  watcher  "  down  upon 
us. 

As  we  went,  my  instructor  threw  a  whisper 


A   POACHER'S   NIGHT. 


225 


or  two  of  warning  over  his  shoulder,  but  mostly 
he  let  me  find  my  own  way  in  his  wake  as  best  I 
could. 

And  the  strange  thing  was,  that  in  spite  of 
care  and  caution,  our  progress  in  that  tangled 
place  was  faster  than  that  of  a  man  walking  on  his 
feet  in  the  daytime. 

As  the  poacher  proceeded,  he  kept  his  face 
turned  upward  to  the  lingering  twilight  which 
filtered  through  the  dense  trees. 

All  at  once,  through  the  close  lattice-work  of 
dark  boughs,  his  eye  caught  sight  of  something. 
Instantly  he  stopped  and  clapped  flat  among  the 
dry  pine  needles  which  covered  the  ground  thick- 
ly beneath  the  upper  coverture  of  stiff  spiky 
branches. 

His  dogs,  nameless,  but  generally  discrimi- 
nated as  "You!"  and  "You  there!"  crouched 
silent  and  motionless  in  their  master's  tracks. 

"For  "You"  and  "You  there"  Rob  had 
once  been  offered  "  ten  notes  " — refused  with 
contumely. 

I  was  not  far  behind  the  dogs,  and,  creeping 
forward  till  I  came  between  their  haunches  as 
they  lay  like  twin  guardians  of  a  shrine,  I  looked 
upward  in  the  direction  of  Rab  Anderson's  fixed 
gaze.  There  I  saw  sundry  dark  shapes,  set  aslant 
against  the  lighter  sky — shapes  which  obviously 


226  LADS'   LOVE, 

did  not  belong  to  the  anatomy  of  ordinary  fir 
branches. 

By  inadvertence  my  elbow  rustled  some  dried 
leaves,  and  Rab's  foot  instantly  warned  me  to  be 
careful  while  the  dogs  pricked  their  ears  and 
looked  reproachfully  at  me  out  of  the  corners 
of  their  eyes,  keeping  their  noses  all  the  time  on 
the  dark  shapes  overhead.  I  could  see  the  long 
necks  of  birds  poking  out,  as  they  craned  this 
way  and  that  to  listen. 

Now  if  any  uninstructed  persons  had  been  in 
the  laird's  covers  that  night,  those  dark  silhou- 
ettes on  the  branches  would  instantly  have  re- 
solved themselves  with  a  startled  half-human  cry, 
and  a  tumultuous  rush  of  wings,  into  a  flight  of 
pheasants,  and  the  watching  "  gameys  "  would 
have  been  upon  the  spot  at  the  double. 

But  under  Rab's  tuition,  even  I — awkward 
pupil  of  a  great  master  as  I  was — soon  went  far 
beyond  that  stage. 

With  the  smaller  fry,  however,  I  still  had 
trouble.  The  blackbirds,  for  instance,  nestling 
in  the  thick  holly  bushes,  would  persist  in  flying 
out  with  indignant  keek-kecks  which  alarmed  the 
whole  thicket,  and  advertised  to  every  wood  deni- 
zen that  strange,  cowering,  leaf-rustling  beasts 
were  abroad  in  the  dark  underneath. 

We  lay  a  long  while  still  to  let  the  silence  set- 


A   POACHER'S   NIGHT.  22/ 

tie  itself  again.  A  rabbit  hopped  down  the  wind, 
and  had  its  fore  paws  upon  my  legs  before  it 
caught  the  scent  of  man.  Then  it  turned  with  a 
startled  rush  and  sped  away.  The  dogs  groaned 
almost  humanly.  Their  teeth  gleamed  through 
the  gloom,  but  so  well  trained  were  they  that 
they  remained  each  fixed  and  stiff  waiting  the 
word  of  command.  They  knew  well  that  their 
master  was  in  pursuit  of  nobler  game  than  these 
hopping  twinkle-tails,  which  might  be  picked  up 
on  every  sandy  slope. 

I  looked  before  me,  and  in  the  darkness  it- 
seemed  as  if  Rab  An'erson  were  slowly  growing 
out  of  the  ground.  Silently  he  seemed  to  elon- 
gate himself  inch  by  inch,  as  if  he  had  been  some 
rapidly  growing  shrub.  Then  when  at  last  he 
stood  erect,  he  took  out  of  his  warm  bosom  a 
few  joints  of  smooth  bamboo.  The  night  was 
chill,  with  a  shrewd  nip  of  frost  in  the  air. 

The  poacher  held  the  bamboo  in  one  hand, 
and  rubbed  its  end  against  the  upper  branches 
softly,  exactly  as  one  branch  does  against  an- 
other, when  the  wind  blows  and  the  trees  sing 
softly  to  its  cadence. 

One  noble  cock-bird,  foredoomed  among  the 
slumbering  pheasants,  acknowledged  the  atten- 
tion by  stretching  his  neck  to  the  side,  at  first 
suspiciously,  but  afterwards,  as  the  gentle  wheez- 

16 


228  LADS'   LOVE. 

ing  went  on,  with  more  toleration.  At  last  the 
bamboo  touched  his  feet,  and  now  it  did  not 
alarm  him.  He  had  seen  its  gradual  approach. 
It  was  warm,  and  to  feet  chilled  by  the  cold  bark 
of  the  branch  and  the  frosty  air,  most  agreeable. 
With  a  sleepy  cluck  of  satisfaction  he  stepped  out 
upon  it.  The  bamboo  was  gradually  lowered  till 
Rab  An'erson's  strong  right  hand  closed  about 
his  neck,  and  his  cockship's  sleepy,  comfortable 
churl  of  bliss  ceased  without  a  sound  to  indicate 
that  the  father  of  a  family  had  entered  into  Nir- 
•  vana. 

Rab  was  so  excellent  a  poacher  that  he  almost 
despised  himself  when  he  ceased  to  use  his  natural 
weapons  against  his  quarry.  Modern  commercial 
poaching — a  masked  band,  entering  a  covert  with 
breech-loaders  and  clearing  it  from  end  to  end 
with  enough  noise  to  scare  the  country-side,  was 
Anathema  unspeakable  to  such  a  purist  as  Rab 
Anderson. 

He  even  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  myself 
when,  a"t  the  end  of  harvest,  I  set  up  a  generous 
stock  of  well-piled  sheaves  in  a  sheltered  loop 
of  stubble  among  the  woods,  and  filled  my  bag 
at  short  range,  firing  at  leisure  across  the  en- 
closure with  a  mere  pinch  of  powder,  which  could 
scarcely  be  heard  a  hundred  yards  away. 

Next  Rab  came  on  a  hare,  lying  yet  warm 


A   POACHER'S   NIGHT. 


229 


across  the  path.  Her  neck  was  fast  in  a  wire 
"  grin " — the  brass  collar  of  Rab's  epigram. 
Death,  as  the  newspaper  reports  say,  "  had  doubt- 
less been  instantaneous  " — Rab  had  seen  to  that 
himself — not  from  motives  of  humanity  but  from 
those  of  caution.  A  hare  caught  in  a  badly  set 
"  grin  "  cries  with  a  pitiful  child-like  cry,  which  is 
unmistakable;  and  which  has  often  brought  down 
the  keepers,  who,  instead  of  picking  up  the  ani- 
mal, leave  it  to  struggle  till  the  poacher  comes. 
Then  they  pick  him  up  instead.  Being  well  aware 
of  this,  Rab  An'erson  had  set  his  snare  where  a 
fall  in  the  ground  made  a  little  natural  drop. 
Then  he  had  drawn  his  foot  along  the  other 
neighbouring  runs,  thereby  forming  insuperable 
obstacles  of  scent,  which  no  self-respecting  hare 
could  pass,  so  that  the  unfortunate  deceased  had 
practically  been  shut  in  to  self-destruction. 

A  covey  of  partridges,  fluttering  in  a  net,  a 
bewildered  rabbit  or  two,  come  to  the  front-door 
of  his  earth-house  for  a  breath  of  the  night  air, 
a  pheasant,  a-swing  by  his  neck  from  a  loop  tied 
to  a  branch — such  were  Rab's  further  acquisi- 
tions. The  bag  over  my  shoulders  had  grown 
heavy,  ere  we  prepared  to  leave  the  woods.  We 
were  passing  between  the  halves  of  the  great 
boulder,  which  had  been  split  in  some  boyish 
freak  of  the  laird's,  when  there  came  to  our  ears 


230 


LADS'   LOVE. 


the  sound,  sharp  as  the  screech  of  a  pencil  on  a 
school  slate,  which  the  steel-rimmed  heel  of  a 
boot  makes  when  it  slips  sideways  on  a  stone. 

Rab  cowered  flat  in  an  instant,  listening  with 
animal  intentness.  On  either  side  of  me  the 
lurchers  lay  motionless,  their  ears  set  forward  in 
the  direction  of  the  sound,  far  too  well  trained 
to  bark  or  move,  and  indicating  their  inter- 
est only  by  a  gentle  push  of  air  through  their 
wide  nostrils. 

We  were  close  to  the  wall  which  separated  the 
covers  from  the  field.  Rab  looked  cautiously 
over.  He  moved  his  hand,  turning  it  a  little  for- 
ward, and  in  an  instant  I  was  beside  him,  as  still 
a  hunter  every  whit  as  he.  In  the  uncertain  light 
I  could  see  a  man  and  a  woman  walking  together 
across  the  sward.  They  went  slowly  and  in  deep 
discourse  towards  the  very  fir  trees,  where,  on 
the  evening  of  my  coming  I  had  seen  the  girl  so 
mysteriously  disappear. 

Rab  grunted  contemptuously. 

"  It's  no  the  keepers  after  a',"  he  said  in  rather 
a  disappointed  tone,  "  some  daft,  gallivantin' 
nicht-rakers.  Come  this  road  away  frae  them." 

And  he  turned  at  right  angles  to  the  course  of 
the  preoccupied  pair,  who,  linked  closely  to- 
gether, had  by  this  time  passed  over  the  grey  turf 
into  the  farther  blackness  of  the  woods. 


A  POACHER'S   NIGHT.  23! 

I  could  read  Rab's  kindly  thought  clear  as 
print.  He  believed  that  the  girl  was  Nance 
Chrystie,  and,  judging  me  to  be  hoodwinked  by 
that  fickle  young  and  designing  person,  he  car- 
ried me  off  in  a  direction  in  which  I  should  be 
clear  of  her  ongoings. 

But  I  knew  that  this  nymph  of  the  woods 
was  no  daughter  of  Peter  Chrystie's.  In  some 
ways  it  would  have  been  better  if  it  had,  for  Nance 
was  a  clear-headed,  straight-purposed  person,  sin- 
gularly capable  of  managing  her  own  affairs.  I 
pondered  over  the  matter  all  the  way  home.  But 
certainly  neither  anger  nor  jealousy  were  in  all 
my  thoughts.  For  better  or  worse  I  knew  that 
the  Maid  of  the  Ghost's  Walk  was  not  my  Nance 
Chrystie,  the  lass  of  the  leal  heart  and  the  thorny 
tongue. 


CHAPTER   XXL 
"  FOLLOWDICK!  " 

When  I  met  Nance  the  next  morning  by  the 
pear-tree  I  told  her  what  I  had  seen  the  night 
before,  and  also  how  Rab  An'erson  had  so 
thoughtfully  spared  my  feelings,  turning  off  sharp 
in  another  direction  in  order  that  I  might  not 
guess  how  my  sweetheart  was  walking  the  mid- 
night woods  with  a  favoured  rival. 

"  You  are  sure  Rab  thought  it  was  me? " 
said  Nance,  with  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  her  tone. 
I  had  told  her  the  tale  that  she  might  laugh  at 
it.  But  her  face  was  grave  even  beyond  her  wont 
at  the  kirk  on  Sabbaths,  and  apparently  she  saw 
nothing  laughable  in  my  excellent  adventure. 

Nance  stood  a  while  thoughfully  with  her 
hand  on  my  arm.  She  always  did  this  when  she 
wished  to  coax  me  to  anything  against  my  will. 

"  I  think  you  an'  me  will  gang  poachin'  up  by 
the  wood  of  Larbrax  this  nicht!  "  she  said.  "  I'll 

run  in  and  get  a  wrap." 

232 


FOLLOWDICK  !  " 


233 


The  autumn  twilight  came  grey  and  cool. 
The  nights  were  already  closing  earlier  in.  The 
snell  scent  of  the  "  back-end  "  of  the  year  was 
rising  from  the  ground  as  I  waited  by  the  or- 
chard-wall for  the  arrival  of  Nance.  The  French 
window  silently  opened,  as  soon  as  the  light  in 
Peter  Chrystie's  chamber  announced  that  the 
head  of  the  house  had  stretched  himself  between 
the  blankets. 

Silently  as  a  broad  leaf  falls,  Nance  was  again 
by  my  side,  a  dark  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and 
her  pretty  head  nestling  in  the  hood  which  was 
drawn  close  beneath  her  chin  by  a  dainty  ribbon. 
She  took  my  hand,  and  without  a  word  spoken 
between  us,  she  drew  me  in  the  direction  of  the 
dark  woods,  where  twice  I  had  seen  the  mysteri- 
ous figure.  But  we  were  not  clear  of  the  high 
orchard-hedge,  when  behind  us  we  heard  a  light 
foot.  Nance  drew  me  back  into  the  shelter  of  the 
hawthorn  with  a  swift  movement  of  the  wrist. 

"  I  see  ye,  Alec  and  Nance,"  said  a  voice  in  a 
cautious  whisper,  "  dinna  think  that  I'm  no  corn- 
in'  too!" 

It  was  the  Hempie. 

"  Gang  hame,  Daftie,"  said  Nance,  "  we  are 
no  wantin'  you." 

"  I  daresay,"  replied  the  young  lady  with  in- 
finite self-possession,  and  a  determined  stamp  of 


234 


LADS'   LOVE. 


her  foot;  "  I  daresay  no,  but  a'  the  same  I'm 
comin'  wi'  you,  if  ye  gang  as  far  as  Jericho!  " 

Then  it  was  that  Nance  used  that  local  term 
of  reproach,  which  is  so  full  of  mystical  signifi- 
cance that  it  is  only  to  be  permitted  in  the  great- 
est extremities. 

"  FOLLOWDICK  !  "  she  said,  almost  hissing  the 
word  at  her  sister. 

The  Hempie  was  distinctly  staggered,  as  well 
she  might — for  the  epithet  implied  at  once  the 
meanness  of  a  spy,  and  the  superfluousness  of 
the  third  party  in  those  affairs  of  love  where 
two  is  company,  as  well  as  the  contemptible 
nature  of  one  who  not  only  imitates  another, 
but  thrusts  his  ungrateful  society  upon  the 
imitated. 

However,  the  Hempie  did  not  long  remain 
stunned.  The  conscious  rectitude  of  her  inten- 
tions and  the  desperation  of  the  case,  urged  her 
to  set  aside  the  insult,  which  on  another  occasion 
would  have  sent  her  back  to  her  room  like  a  dog 
bidden  to  lie  down. 

"  I  dinna  care! "  she  said  determinedly. 
"  '  Followdick  '  or  no  '  Followdick,'  I'm  no'  gaun 
to  let  my  sister  traipse  to  the  Lang  Wood  of 
Larbrax  at  this  time  o'  nicht  wi'  Alec  McQuhirr 
or  ony  ither  lad." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  am  going  to  the 


"  FOLLOWDICK  ! "  235 

Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax?  "  demanded  Nance  im- 
periously. 

"  That  is  no'  the  road  to  the  kirk,  that  I  ken 
o'!"  returned  the  Hempie  with  meaning. 

"  I  only  wish  it  were,  Hempie,"  I  hastened  to 
say  in  order  to  slacken  the  tension  of  the  scene. 

"  I  daresay,"  said  the  Hempie,  "  when  ye  hae 
stood  up  before  the  minister,  you  and  Nance  can 
please  yoursel's  and  gang  your  ain  gaits — to  Kel- 
tonhill  Fair  an'  it  like  you.  But  till  then  the 
Hempie  is  comin'  wi'  ye.  So  tak'  your  accounts 
wi'  that!" 

"  Let  her  come!  "  said  Nance  suddenly,  mak- 
ing, I  fear,  a  virtue  of  necessity. 

"Come  on,  Hempie!"  I  whispered. 

"  Na,"  said  the  Hempie,  "  I'm  no'  comin' 
alang  wi'  ye.  I'll  come  ahint  ye,  an'  ye  can  talk 
your  ain  talks  oot  o'  my  hearin'.  Dinna  think 
that  I  want  to  hear  ony  o'  your  silly,  saft  bleth- 
ers!" 

Thus  in  two  divisions,  with  the  Hempie  as  a 
sufficient  rear  guard,  we  arrived  at  the  edge  of 
the  Lang  Wood,  in  which  most  of  our  operations 
of  the  previous  night  had  been  conducted.  I 
helped  Nance  over  at  the  corner  of  the  dyke,  but 
the  Hempie  scorned  the  proffered  assistance,  and 
even  Nance  took  the  matter  more  as  a  compli- 
ment than  as  a  necessity. 


236 


LADS'   LOVE. 


Presently  we  stood  behind  the  dyke,  almost 
on  the  very  spot  from  which  Rob  and  I  had  seen 
the  pair  decking  across  the  grass  the  night  be- 
fore. Here  we  waited  and  the  woods  were  still 
all  about  us.  A  belated  whaup  cried  far  out  on 
the  edges  of  the  moors.  A  jack-snipe  whinnied 
unseen  somewhere  overhead.  It  was  very  still, 
and  presently  it  awed  and  silenced  even  the  Hem- 
pie.  I  had  drawn  Nance's  cloak  close  about  her, 
and  was  holding  it  so  as  we  leaned  against  the 
dyke  and  waited,  looking  out  with  all  our  six 
eyes  upon  the  grassy  plateau  before  us  as  on  the 
empty  stage  of  a  theatre  before  the  curtain  goes 
up.  After  a  little  the  Hempie  came  close  to  me 
on  the  other  side  from  Nance,  and  humbly  took 
my  unoccupied  hand  for  company. 

Thus  we  must  have  stood  well-nigh  half  an 
hour,  till  I  began  to  fear  that  our  promenaders  of 
the  night  before  were  going  to  disappoint  us  of 
the  sight  we  had  come  so  far  to  see. 

But  all  suddenly,  round  the  corner  of  the  glade 
nearest  to  us  came  a  dark  figure  walking  swiftly 
— almost  running  indeed.  It  was  a  tall  girl  with 
long  loose  locks  floating  about  her  head,  and  wear- 
ing a  short  ragged  kirtle,  kilted  half  way  to  her 
knees.  She  was  quick  and  lithe  in  her  move- 
ments, moving  noiselessly  and  swiftly  past  us  to- 
wards the  wood.  She  disappeared  as  quickly  and 


"  FOLLOWDICK  !  "  237 

mysteriously  as  before,  seeming  to  melt  into  the 
darkness  opposite  where  we  stood.  A  curious 
cold  thrill  passed  down  my  own  back.  I  could 
feel  the  Hempie  clutch  my  hand  firmer,  and  even 
the  adventurous  Nance,  the  Woman  of  Wise  Se- 
crets, nestled  more  closely  against  my  side. 

After  a  long  pause  we  saw  come  out  of  the 
wood  almost  at  the  same  point,  another  figure 
very  different  in  appearance,  even  when  seen  in 
silhouette  against  the  grey  night  glimmer  which 
seemed  rather  to  be  given  out  by  the  dewy  grass 
than  to  come  from  the  sky. 

But  now  we  were  looking  at  no  mere  stripling> 
girl.  The  figure  was  that  of  the  woman  whom  I 
had  seen  on  the  evening  of  my  arrival — a  woman 
tall  and  well  attired,  clad  in  a  flowing  robe  of  silk 
or  some  other  lightest  material.  Above,  upon  her 
head  we  could  see  plainly  the  wide  dark  sweep  of  a 
Gainsborough  hat,  which  completely  hid  her  pro- 
file from  our  view.  There  was  something  of  the 
wild  woodland's  creature  in  the  lithe  grace  of 
carriage,  the  simplicity  of  action  with  which  she 
moved.  As  she  passed  near  to  us,  I  could  see  the 
girl  bend  sideways  and  take  her  skirt  in  her  hand 
with  a  quick,  graceful  action.  Then  she  let  it 
fall  and  did  it  over  again  as  she  walked,  for  all 
the  world  as  if  she  had  been  practising  the  move- 
ment for  a  ball-room. 


238  LADS'   LOVE. 

Ever  and  anon,  the  girl  would  stop  in  her 
walk  and  look  towards  the  open  end  of  the  loop 
of  green  sward,  where  the  Ghost's  Walk  opened 
out  upon  the  wide,  misty  fields.  It  was  clear  that 
she  was  expecting  someone  to  join  her. 

Nor  had  she  long  to  wait. 

A  man  came  towards  her  with  quick  springing 
steps.  The  girl  instantly  dropped  her  skirt  and 
ran  to  meet  him.  There  in  the  midst  of  the  glade 
we  saw  them  kiss  each  other.  Then  she  took 
his  arm  and  the  pair  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
slowly,  their  faces  angled  fondly  to  one  another, 
and  their  voices  coming  to  us  in  a  continuous 
murmur  of  sound. 

At  this  point  I  began  to  feel  acutely  the  creep- 
ing meanness  of  setting  ourselves  as  spies  upon 
the  action  of  two  lovers.  I  thought  of  the  pear- 
tree  in  the  orchard.  I  took  Nance's  arm  to  draw 
her  away.  But  she  refused  with  a  quick  impetu- 
ous jerk  which  betokened  infinite  interest  and 
determination. 

As  the  pair  passed  and  repassed  it  was  ever 
the  man  who  talked  and  the  girl  who  listened. 
At  least  her  replies  were  too  low  for  us  to  over- 
hear. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  say  is  true,"  the  man  was 
asserting  vehemently,  "  we  can  be  married  here 
and  now,  if  you  will,  and  such  a  declaration  of 


"  FOLLOWDICK  !  " 


239 


marriage  will  hold  as  strongly  and  surely  as  if 
you  had  been  married  in  the  kirk  itself.  I  have 
studied  the  law  of  Scotland,  and  I  know " 

Here  the  speaker  passed  out  of  range.  When 
they  came  back  he  was  still  pleading. 

"  Here  and  now,  darling — what  better  time? 
You  are  ready  to  take  me  for  your  husband.  I 
will  take  you  for  my  wife!  " 

They  stopped  simultaneously  at  the  words, 
almost  within  touching  distance  of  us.  The  man 
stood  opposite  to  the  woman  and  took  her  hand. 

"  I  take  thee  to  be  my  wedded  wife," — it  was 
the  man's  voice  which  spoke.  I  knew  it  for  that 
of  my  adversary,  Nathan  Murdoch,  "  to  be  my 
wedded  wife  "  (he  repeated  the  words  more  loud- 
ly), "  and  I  promise  to  be  unto  thee  a  true  and 
loving  husband  until  death  us  do  part! " 

Then,  instructed  by  him,  the  girl  repeated  a 
similar  sentence  as  he  held  her  by  the  hand. 

"  I  take  thee  to  be  my  true  husband  before 
God  and  man,  and  I  promise  to  be  unto  thee  a 
faithful  and  obedient  wife  till  death  us  do  part." 

The  man  slipped  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of 
his  waistcoat,  and  drew  from  thence  something 
which  he  slipped  upon  the  girl's  finger. 

"  There,"  said  he  gaily;  "  it  is  all  over  except 
the  parson's  kissing  the  bride.  And  there — that 
also  is  done!  Did  I  not  tell  you  it  was  easily 


240  LADS'   LOVE. 

managed,  and  God  in  heaven  be  our  witness  that 
we  are  truly  man  and  wife." 

So,  indeed,  God  in  Heaven  was  a  witness. 
But  in  the  wood  shadows  there  were  other  wit- 
nesses whom  Mr.  Nathan  Murdoch  wotted  not  of, 
and  witnesses  perhaps  even  more  important.  For 
the  Almighty  cannot  be  called  to  compear  in 
any  earthly  Court  of  Session. 

The  pair  who  had  taken  such  vows  upon 
them,  little  recking  of  the  marriage  guests  behind 
the  dyke,  passed  slowly  across  the  open  glade 
and  disappeared  into  the  wood.  Silence  shut 
down  upon  the  Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax,  save  that 
the  snipe  still  whinnied,  and  a  questing  owl 
whooped  past  with  a  soft,  noiseless  fluff  of  brown 
feathers. 

We  drew  our  breaths  a  little  quickly  after  hav- 
ing held  them  for  so  long.  Then  we  moved 
quietly  away  to  the  corner  of  the  wood  at  which 
we  had  entered,  and  so  back  across  the  fields  and 
stiles  to  the  glimmering  white  houses  of  Nether 
Neuk,  where  not  a  dog  barked  as  I  held  the 
French  window  open  for  the  entrances  of  Nance 
and  the  Hempie. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE  REFORMATION  OF  THE  LAZY  TAED. 

Events  marched  swiftly  after  that.  Nance, 
indeed,  waxed  more  and  more  mysterious  every 
day.  The  Hempie  blindly  supported  her.  Peter 
spent  almost  every  night  in  company  with  the 
two  lairds  of  Butterhole  and  Sourdubs,  and  with 
them  was  often  to  be  found  Mr.  Nathan  Mur- 
doch. 

I  saw  less  of  Nance  also,  because  by  the  fol- 
lowing month  I  had  obtained  the  coveted  assist- 
antship  to  Dr.  Armstrong,  and  the  duties  of  my 
profession  took  all  or  nearly  all  my  attention. 
Nevertheless  Dr.  Armstrong,  in  his  capacity  of 
parish  doctor  to  the  district  of  Whinnyliggate, 
remarked  that  the  percentage  of  cases  requiring 
attention  there  was  greater  than  it  had  ever 
been  during  his  thirty  years'  tenure  of  office.  Yet 
there  was  no  apparent  epidemic  to  account  for  it. 

Nor,  being  a  young  practitioner,  did  I  feel 

myself  qualified  to  say  why  this  should  be  so. 

241 


242  LADS'   LOVE. 

One  day  as  I  drove  along  by  the  dyke  to- 
wards Nether  Neuk,  hoping  with  some  reason- 
able confidence  that  I  might  see  Nance  at  the 
corner  of  the  loaning  (I  had  forgathered  with  the 
Hempie  on  my  way  up  the  Glen),  I  came  on  Rab 
An'erson,  looking  strangely  unlike  himself.  At 
first  I  could  not  make  out  wherein  the  difference 
lay.  Yet  assuredly  there  was  a  great  one  some- 
where. At  last  I  had  it.  Rab  wore  a  coat.  I 
had  never  known  him  get  beyond  a  ragged  shirt 
and  a  pair  of  trousers  in  my  life,  save  on  those 
very  wet  days  when  he  put  on  a  sleeved  waist- 
coat. 

His  son,  the  De'il  (so  it  was  said),  usually 
exchanged  with  the  nearest  "  craw-bogle  "  when 
he  wanted  a  new  outfit.  But  here  plain  to  the 
eye  was  Rab  himself,  decently  clothed,  and  with 
a  new  blue  bonnet  on  his  head,  instead  of  loung- 
ing about  in  picturesque  rags,  hatless  and  stock- 
ingless,  at  some  dyke-back  on  the  muir. 

"  What  in  the  world  has  come  to  ye,  Rab?  " 
I  asked  with  some  anxiety.  For  indeed  it  was  a 
portentous  thing  to  see  the  poacher-herd  so  keen 
on  the  proprieties. 

Rob  looked  at  himself  from  his  boots  as  far  as 
he  could  see  in  an  upward  direction.  His  glance 
displayed  an  acute  sense  of  shame.  Then  he  took 
off  his  bonnet  and  regarded  it  with  extreme  dis- 


THE   REFORMATION   OF   THE   LAZY   TAED.  243 

favour,  turning  it  about  in  his  fingers  and  looking 
at  it  within  and  without. 

"  It's  that  misleared  lassie,  the  Hoolet,"  he 
said  at  last,  "  if  onybody  had  telled  me  a  twal- 
month  since  that  Rob  An'erson  wad  hae  pitten 
on  the  like  o'  thae  duds — Sunday  or  Saturday — 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  him  a  dunner  on  the  side  o'  the 
heid." 

"  What  has  the  Hoolet  done  to  bring  this 
about?"  I  said. 

"  Done?  "  said  Rob  indignantly,  "  I  kenna 
what  has  come  to  the  craitur.  She  is  forever 
fykin'  an'  cleanin'.  There's  no  a  dish  oot  o'  its 
place  in  a'  the  cot  hoose.  The  floor  maun  be 
washed  every  mornin' — soopit  twice  a  day  nae 
less.  The  grate  is  polished  till  you  can  see  your 
face  in  the  bars.  She  tried  to  get  me  to  gang 
outside  to  hae  my  smoke.  But,  fegs!  Rab  An'er- 
son drew  the  line  there.  An'  then  there's  hersel'! 
The  Queen  o'  Sheeba  is  no  in  it  wi'  oor  'Liz- 
beth!" 

Far  away  out  of  the  hollow  beneath  us,  more 
like  an  echo  than  a  living  human  voice,  came 
soughing  Peter  Chrystie's  elricht  refrain  to  which 
he  conducted  most  of  the  work  of  the  farm. 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Arierson,  Lazy  Taedf  Saw 
ye  ocht  d  Rab  Anerson,  Lazy  Taed?  " 

Rob  slid  nonchalantly  off  the  dyke  in  his  old 
17 


244 


LADS'   LOVE. 


indolent  manner.  Then  he  inclined  his  ear  hill- 
wards,  and  it  was  with  a  relishing  sigh  of  relief 
that  he  said,  "  It's  a  Guid's  blessin'  that  there's 
aye  thing  that's  no  reformed  about  this  farm- 
toon,  an'  that's  the  auld  deevil  doon  yonder. 
Here  till  him,  he  maun  be  gettin'  fair  foamin' 
wild  by  this  time." 

So  with  that,  Rob,  to  show  his  new  born  zeal, 
slid  yet  farther  down  the  side  of  the  dyke  farthest 
from  his  master.  He  lay  listening  with  the 
pleased  and  happy  expression  of  a  child  put  to 
sleep  to  the  sound  of  a  well-known  lullaby. 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Anerson — Rab  An'erson, 
Lazy  Taed?" 

The  words  came  strident  and  separate,  like  a 
stick  repeatedly  struck  on  a  wire  fence. 

"  It's  soothin',  doctor,"  he  said  dreamily;  "  it's 
maist  wonderfu'  soothin'!" 

And  as  I  started  my  old  white  mare,  which 
had  been  standing  contentedly  between  the  gig- 
shafts,  I  could  see  Rab  An'erson,  with  his  pipe 
stuck  at  a  convenient  angle,  beating  time  with 
his  tobacco-box  to  the  refrain  of  the  master  of 
Nether  Neuk  as  he  tracked  the  hill-side  to  and 
fro,  looking  everywhere  for  his  most  unprofitable 
servant. 

"Saw  ye  ocht  o1  Rab  Anerson — ocht  o  Rab 
Anerson,  La-a-azy  Taed?" 


THE    REFORMATION   OF   THE   LAZY   TAED. 


245 


As  I  listened  to  the  long  drawl  of  the  Gallo- 
way vowels,  I  decided  with  a  smile  that  Rab's  re- 
pentance and  reformation  were  not  yet  serious 
enough  to  hurt  him. 

When  I  saw  Nance  at  the  loaning  foot  that 
night  I  told  her  of  my  prospects  with  the  old 
bachelor  doctor,  who  was  more  and  more  desir- 
ous of  confining  himself  to  the  patients  immedi- 
ately about  the  town  of  Cairn  Edward.  There 
was  also,  I  thought,  more  than  a  chance  of  a 
partnership  if  I  could  muster  up  my  courage  to 
speak  to  my  father.  I  was  sure  that  we  could  pay 
the  purchase  money  back  rapidly. 

But  Nance  was  firm. 

"  Partnership,  if  ye  like,  lad,"  said  she,  "  bor- 
row from  your  father,  honest  man,  if  ye  like.  But 
ye  shall  never  marry  Nance  Chrystie  with  debt 
hanging  over  your  head  if  I  ken  of  it — my 
man!" 

And  I  admired  her  so  greatly  for  her  spirit, 
that  had  old  Mary  Grey  been  one  whit  less  se- 
date, she  might  have  wandered  off  to  Cairn 
Edward  by  herself,  to  my  infinite  shame  and 
undoing,  during  the  tranced  half-hour  which  fol- 
lowed. 

Then  after  we  had  discussed  our  plans,  and 
agreed  that  things  would  be  pretty  far  advanced 
with  us  before  we  asked  Peter  of  Nether  Neuk 


246  LADS'  LOVE. 

for  his  blessing,  I  told  Nance  laughingly  of  my 
meeting  with  Rab  Anderson. 

Her  face  fell  at  once — the  mirth  all  stricken 
blankly  out  of  it. 

"  Puir  Rab!"  she  said,  sadly;  "  puir,  puir 
Rab!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

NATHAN   MURDOCH   MAKES  A   BUSINESS   PROPOSAL. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  March  that 
the  greatest  and  most  terrible  night  known  in 
the  annals  of  Whinnyliggate  befel.  And  I  must 
draw  a  breath  before  I  breast  this  steepest  brae 
of  the  tale. 

For  since  our  little  moorland  parish  has  but 
one  tale  to  tell,  as  the  great  world  counts  stories 
(though  a  thousand  of  its  own  for  each  green 
knoll  and  hummock  of  purple  heather,  for  each 
nestling  cot-house,  and  stern  square-lined  farm- 
town)  it  is  just  and  right  that  that  one  tale  should 
be  told  with  some  care  and  circumspection. 

Have  you  ever  thought  what  a  strange  cross- 
section  of  life  is  revealed  whenever  a  crime  is 
done,  which  needs  to  have  flashed  upon  it  the  in- 
discriminating  bull's-eye  lantern  of  human  jus- 
tice? A  blow  is  struck  in  a  house  crowded  with 
human  beings.  Each  item  of  that  crowd,  each 

group  of  items  is  busy  with  its  own  proper  con- 

247 


248  LADS'  LOVE. 

cerns — and  ignorant  of  all  the  others — then,  all 
suddenly,  the  knife,  and  lo!  we  have  revealed 
what  all  were  doing.  A  raffish  lad  is  shot  dead 
at  a  wood's  edge,  and  in  an  hour,  the  whole  hu- 
man hive  (of  which  the  world  saw  but  the  undis- 
tinguished outside)  is  being  cross-examined  as 
to  its  doings,  its  seeings,  its  words,  its  thoughts, 
at  twelve  of  the  clock — the  hour  when  Cain  and 
his  brother  Abel  had  their  last  meeting.  What 
were  you  doing?  And  you?  And  you?  Behold, 
your  tales  agree  not.  What  you  allege  was  good 
enough  for  the  business  of  the  world.  But  we 
need  better  evidence  now.  Had  Abel  gone  an- 
other way,  that  tale  of  yours  might  have  passed. 
But  since  Cain  met  him  and  slayed  him  and  left 
him,  we  must  have  other  of  it.  The  truth,  man 
—the  truth! 

So,  strangely  enough,  the  night  of  Whinny- 
liggate's  terror  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  man 
who,  of  all  who  acted  in  that  tragedy,  was  the 
weakest  and  the  worst.  "  Nathan  Murdoch's 
Nicht,"  they  call  it — so  strange  is  the  tendency 
of  the  crowd  to  ticket  a  man  by  the  scarlet  patch 
no  bigger  than  one's  palm  on  his  cloak  of  grey. 
But  as  I  tell  my  story,  the  real  hero  of  the  night 
will  appear  clearly  revealed  for  the  first  time. 

It  is  not  very  difficult  to  set  in  order  the 
tale  now.  From  a  thousand  sources  the  facts, 


NATHAN   MURDOCH'S  BUSINESS  PROPOSAL. 


249 


the  words,  the  countermarchings,  the  fell  intents, 
the  sacrifices  of  that  night  have  been  made  plain, 
and  have,  indeed,  long  been  common  fireside  talk. 
I  who  have  the  best  right  to  speak  of  some  part 
of  this  our  moorland  Iliad  (though  I  saw  not  the 
terrible  wrath  of  Achilles),  have  no  right  to  speak 
of  other  parts,  save  that  I  know  them  as  well  as 
the  things  which  my  own  eyes  saw  and  my  proper 
hands  handled. 

The  first  scene  of  all  we  know,  not  from  the 
seeing  of  an  alien  eye,  but  from  the  muttered, 
monotonous  testimony  of  two  tossing,  fevered 
heads,  which  from  their  several  pillows  furnished 
to  nurse  and  doctor,  the  key  of  the  secret  cham- 
ber which  contains  our  simple  mystery. 

The  brief  lowering  March  day  had  begun  to 
merge  into  the  long  March  night.  The  wind 
blew  bitter  from  the  north.  The  rain  was  chang- 
ing into  sleet,  the  sleet  to  snow,  and  whereas  at 
one  minute  the  whole  landscape  would  be  grey- 
white  with  hoary  drift,  the  next  a  swift  drench 
of  scouring  squall  would  go  sloughing  and  plash- 
ing over  the  moorlands,  threshing  through  the 
blind  turmoil  of  the  woods,  and  deluging  the 
fields  till  all  was  forthwith  turned  to  black  again. 

Once  more  the  loop  of  turf  by  the  wood's 
edge  was  not  empty.  A  girl,  not  now  clad  in  ele- 
gant costume,  but  close  wrapped  in  a  scanty 


250 


LADS'   LOVE. 


shawl,  walked  slowly  up  and  down.  She  wore 
no  sweeping  plumed  hat,  for  the  gale  would  have 
torn  it  from  her  head.  Sometimes  she  sheltered 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  drew  the  shawl  with 
monotonous  patience  over  her  hair,  but  never- 
theless the  glutinous  sleet-flakes  threshed  into 
her  face  and  clung  hoarily  to  her  eye-brows.  She 
was  now  to  make  her  agonised  prayer  to  him 
who  had  gotten  all  his  asking,  the  same  who  on 
this  spot  had  called  her  his  wife. 

The  grim  swift  twilight  shut  down  into  a 
glimmer,  greyer  night.  It  was  not  quite  dark, 
for  occasionally,  through  the  breaks  in  the  rush- 
ing cloud-river  above,  gleamed  the  broad  sickle 
of  the  quarter  moon. 

The  girl  shuddered  and  walked  more  slowly, 
as  if  weighted  down  with  weariness.  There  was 
none  to  help  her  anywhere.  God  she  knew  not, 
and  the  only  two  she  loved  were  to  cast  her  off 
ere  the  night  had  turned  to  morning. 

It  is  little  wonder  that  the  storm  was  in  her 
soul.  The  blast  which  hurtled  across  the  moors, 
hissing  level,  stinging  and  chilling,  might  have 
been  a  zephyr  for  all  that  the  plaid-wrapped  girl 
knew  or  cared.  She  shielded  her  face  indeed, 
not  against  the  fury  of  the  elements,  but  that 
she  might  watch  more  intently  that  grey  strip  of 
turf — across  which  he  would  come. 


NATHAN   MURDOCH'S   BUSINESS   PROPOSAL.  251 

At  last  he  came,  booted,  leather-gaitered, 
thickly-coated,  a  cap  pulled  well  over  his  eyes  and 
drawn  close  about  his  ears.  And  as  soon  as  she 
saw  him  come,  the  girl  sprang  forward  with  a 
glad  cry.  Then  all  suddenly  she  stood  still  with 
her  hand  on  her  side,  and  waited  for  the  man  to 
advance. 

Nathan  Murdoch  came  slowly  on,  and  then 
stopped,  standing  insolently  and  callously  be- 
fore her  with  his  hands  still  deep  in  his  pock- 
ets. It  was  the  girl  who  at  last  went  forward, 
and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck.  The  shawl 
fell  upon  her  shoulders;  the  beautiful  head 
was  thrown  back.  The  wind  unloosed  the 
banded  hair  and  blew  it  about  her  eyes,  till 
it  threshed  in  the  man's  face  and  annoyed 
him. 

He  stepped  back  and  pushed  her  from  him 
with  one  irritable  movement. 

"  Tie  up  that  wisp,"  he  said  roughly,  "  and 
keep  the  shawl  about  your  head!  " 

Yet  in  times  bygone  he  had  said  a  thousand 
times  how  beautiful  was  her  hair,  and  the  girl  re- 
membered each  separate  time. 

She  came  near  to  him  again,  and  this  time  he 
did  not  push  her  away.  He  thought  that  he 
might  as  well  have  it  over  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
be  done  with  it. 


252  LADS'   LOVE. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  he  said  with 
beautiful  directness. 

The  girl  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
looked  up  at  him. 

The  water  brimmed  over  from  her  eyes,  softly, 
steadily.  The  spring  was  too  full  to  fall  in  tears. 
She  did  not  sob,  neither  did  she  utter  sigh  nor 
complaint.  She  did  not  demand  anything  from 
him.  Only  her  eyes  ran  with  water,  hot  and  salt, 
which  stung  his  hand  as  he  held  it  against  her 
breast  to  keep  her  back.  And  the  man  hated  her 
more  for  that  than  if  she  had  cried  curses  upon 
him,  and  stricken  at  him  in  wild  fury. 

"  Well,"  he  said  again,  holding  his  head  a  lit- 
tle back,  "  what  is  it  that  you  want?  " 

The  girl  tried  to  master  herself  that  she 
might  speak,  but  could  not  for  a  while.  The 
waters  within  were  too  high,  they  roared  in 
her  ears.  The  wind  without  swept  her  words 
away. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  name  wi'  me,  Nathan 
— to  tell  my  faither.  I  darena  gang  hame  by  my 
lane.  God  kens,  I  darena  face  him! " 

"  To  face  whom?  "  growled  Nathan  Murdoch, 
"  to  tell  what?  "  Though  well  he  knew  in  both 
cases. 

"  My  faither — my  faither!  "  she  wailed.  The 
shawl  had  fallen  back  again  and  the  face  might 


NATHAN   MURDOCH'S  BUSINESS   PROPOSAL.  253 

have  disarmed  a  devil,  "  To  tell  him,  Nathan, 
that  we  are  man  and  wife " 

The  man,  who  at  that  moment  would  have 
been  cast  out  of  deepest  hell  by  the  darkest  spirit 
there,  as  unworthy  of  such  honourable  refuge, 
laughed  a  short,  ugly  laugh. 

"  Man  and  wife!  "  he  said,  brutally.  "  How 
can  I  tell  your  father,  or  anyone  else,  such  non- 
sense as  that?  " 

The  girl  gasped.  Her  hand  clutched  instinc- 
tively at  her  throat,  as  if  she  were  being  momen- 
tarily choked.  She  undid  the  neck  of  her  gown 
a  little,  unconsciously,  to  get  a  breath  of  air — 
this,  be  it  noted,  when  the  blast  was  yelling  past, 
and  the  branches  of  the  trees  above  creaking  and 
whoo-mg  as  they  rubbed  and  writhed  in  agony 
overhead. 

"  What  is  nonsense,  Nat?  "  She  drew  nearer 
to  him,  "  Did  you  not  tell  me  here  in  this  place 
that  we  were  man  and  wife — before  God,  you 
said,  and  by  the  law  of  the  land?  Did  you  not 
promise  me,  and  make  me  promise  you  too?  " 

"  Doubtless,"  said  the  man,  "  but  that  was 
only  courting  nonsense.  A  marriage  without 
witnesses  is  no  marriage.  You  knew  that  very 
well." 

"  But  you  swore  it,  Nat.  You  married  me — 
you  gied  me  a  ring.  O  ye  wadna  cast  me  off, 


254  LADS'   LOVE. 

Nat — not  your  little  lass  that  never  denied  ye 
ony thing?  " 

Then  the  man — no,  the  devil,  I  crave  pardon 
of  Lucifer  and  his  angels — the  Thing  thrust  his 
hands  deeper  into  his  pockets,  for  he  was  getting 
tired  of  all  this.  Besides,  it  was  cold  and  he 
wanted  to  go  back  to  the  inn  fire-side,  which,  in- 
deed, he  had  made  a  sufficiently  great  sacrifice  in 
quitting  at  all.  He  thought  that  a  brutal  frank- 
ness would  serve  him  best  on  this  occasion — as  it 
had  served  him  before  with  weak,  yielding  women. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  roughly,  "  that  about  mar- 
riage is  all  fudge.  Better  say  nothing  about  it  to 
anybody.  They'll  only  laugh  at  you.  I  am  leav- 
ing the  country  to-morrow  morning.  You  can 
tell  your  father  anything  you  like.  Here  are  fifty 
pounds.  Mind  you  must  make  the  most  of  them, 
and  don't  think  that  you  can  come  on  me  for 
more.  Or,  I  tell  you,  you  shall  never  hear  from 
me  again.  But  if  you  are  a  sensible  girl  and  make 
no  fuss,  I'll  send  you  something  whiles  by  a  sure 
hand." 

The  girl's  white  lips  parted  more  and  more 
widely  while  the  man  was  speaking.  Her  dark 
eyes  stared  at  him  heart-brokenly  from  under  her 
wind-blown  hair,  like  the  eyes  of  some  dumb, 
helpless  thing  that  is  being  tortured  and  buffeted 
without  knowing  why. 


NATHAN   MURDOCH'S  BUSINESS   PROPOSAL. 


255 


The  man  thrust  a  roll  of  notes  into  her  hand. 
But  the  tense  fingers  did  not  close  upon  them 
any  more  than  the  branch  of  a  tree  would  have 
done.  His  words  had  made  no  separate  impres- 
sion. Only  his  denial — only  the  sound  of  his  re- 
fusal to  help  her  had  sunk  in.  He  would  not 
come  back  with  her.  She  must  face  her  father's 
wrath  alone.  He  denied  her  as  his  wife.  The 
roll  of  notes  slipped  from  her  hands.  She  did 
not  understand  in  the  least  what  it  was.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  father,  sitting  in  his  chair  by  the 
unbrushed  ingle-nook.  She  knew  he  was  listen- 
ing for  her  foot,  and  wondering  what  was  keeping 
her  so  long. 

The  roll  of  money  fell  unregarded  on  the  sleet- 
grimed  turf.  The  wind  would  in  a  moment  have 
swept  the  bank-notes  away  as  swiftly  as  if  they 
had  been  last  year's  leaves — as  indeed  they  were; 
the  dry,  dead  leaves  of  a  fond  woman's  summer 
folly.  But  the  man,  cool  and  self-possessed  as 
when  he  bought  goods  wholesale,  set  his  foot 
upon  the  package,  and  presently  stooping  lifted 
it  and  slipped  it  back  again  into  his  pocket. 

Little  by  little  the  girl  stayed  her  sobbing. 
The  man  continued  to  look  sideways  at  her,  won- 
dering how  long  this  was  to  continue.  At  last 
he  spoke: 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  this  will  never  do.     Be  a 


256  LADS'   LOVE. 

sensible  girl,  and  it  will  be  all  right.  I  will  come 
back  again  if — if  you  do  as  I  tell  you.  I  cannot 
tell  anyone  we  are  married  just  now.  It — it 
would  hurt  my  business.  See,  let  me  take  you 
home,  and  it  will  all  come  right  yet.  I  have  to 
go  to  England  to-morrow;  but  I  will  write  you 
from  Dumfries,  and  tell  you  where  you  are  to 
meet  me." 

He  thought  that  was  a  good  deal  to  take  the 
trouble  to  say. 

"Yes,  Nat;  yes!"  said  the  girl,  earnestly 
striving  to  stay  the  whirl  of  her  mind  that  she 
might  understand  his  words. 

They  were  soon  at  the  gable  end  of  the  little 
cot  under  the  lee  of  the  wood.  There  was  a 
warmer  smell  in  the  air,  the  odour  of  burning 
peat. 

"  Now,"  said  the  man,  eager  to  get  away,  "  be 
a  good  girl.  I  will  write  you — all  will  be  as  you 
wish  it — good-night !  " 

The  girl  stood  a  moment,  the  snow-flakes 
eddying  about  her,  watching  him  go.  Then  with 
a  convulsive  leap  she  sprang  after  him. 

"  Oh,  take  me  with  you  now!  "  she  cried, 
"  my  husband." 

It  was  in  vain.  The  wind  swept  away  her 
voice.  The  snow-squall  hid  him  from  her  sight. 
He  had  settled  his  cap  and  gone  off  at  top  speed. 


NATHAN   MURDOCH'S   BUSINESS   PROPOSAL. 


257 


The  girl  turned  about  uncertainly.  She 
looked  up  at  the  crack  in  the  cloud-race  over- 
head, through  which  the  moon  occasionally  shot 
a  glance  of  white  triangular  eye. 

"  He  said  I  was  his  wife — and  I  believed  him," 
she  said  aloud,  with  her  eyes  on  the  cloud-rift. 

She  was  explaining  the  matter  to  God. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

Robert  Anderson,  shepherd,  cottar,  poacher, 
sat  within  his  house  at  the  back  of  the  Lang 
Wood  of  Larbrax,  and  listened  for  the  home- 
coming of  his  daughter  Elizabeth. 

Lord !  what  shallow  apes  we  human  creatures 
be,  shaking  with  laughter  at  the  cock  of  one  an- 
other's noses  or  the  hang  of  our  neighbours'  tails! 
A  degree's  difference  of  angle  makes  all  the  dif- 
ference between  romantic  tragedy  and  screaming 
farce.  A  man  possesses  a  mouth  of  a  peculiar 
twist.  In  virtue  whereof  he  is  a  princely  humour- 
ist— born  in  the  motley,  as  it  were.  Every  word 
he  says  is  accepted  as  the  wittiest  ever  spoken. 
Then  having,  on  account  of  his  facial  trick  been 
still  further  educated  to  the  part,  he  plays  up 
to  his  reputation  ever  after,  and  is  throughout 
his  life  a  conscious  clown,  at  sight  of  whom  the 
rustic  and  the  courtier  fall  alike  into  indiscrimi- 
nate convulsions. 

258 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER. 


259 


Underneath  that  mask  may  there  not  be  a 
tragic  soul — a  panic-stricken,  pathetic  heart? 

Hoot  away,  man — what  have  we  to  do  with 
any  man's  soul?  Look  at  his  mouth! 

Or,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  an  inch  or 
two  in  a  woman's  waist,  a  hair's-breadth  of  dif- 
ference in  the  contour  of  her  nose  or  chin,  a 
quaint  pretty  trick  of  pouting  her  lips,  a  quarter 
of  a  finger-nail's  length  added  to  the  dark  sweep 
of  her  eyelashes — and  there  is  an  empire's  differ- 
ence in  her  fate,  or  in  the  fates  of  those  about 
her.  Destiny  sits  fateful  in  the  dimple  of  a  chin, 
and  lurks  in  the  golden  specks  which  float  in  the 
limpid  hazel  of  a  woman's  eye.  A  girl  smiles 
with  her  lips,  and  it  is  naught.  She  smiles  with 
her  eyes,  and — ah,  then,  the  world  of  witching 
difference. 

The  -agonised  clown,  at  sight  of  whose  con- 
torted face,  mirth-provoking,  irresistible,  the 
audience  double  themselves  up,  and  jog  elbows, 
crying,  "  Did  ever  any  man  see  the  like  of  that?  " 
is  a  type  of  many  a  life  when  the  mask  is  off,  the 
veil  lifted,  the  enamel  washed  out  of  the  crow's- 
feet  of  care. 

Rab  Anderson,  lazy  as  ever,  but  cleaner  than 
of  yore,  sat  and  gazed  at  the  fire.  He  was  wait- 
ing for  his  daughter.  The  Hoolet — 'Lizbeth — 
to  mention  for  once  her  unfrequent  grown-up 

18 


260  LADS'    LOVE. 

appellation,  had  shot  up  in  a  year  or  two  from 
the  rough,  coltish  lassie,  with  few  distinguishing 
marks  of  sex  about  her,  into  a  fair  and  beautifully- 
formed  woman.  And  Rab  Anderson,  who  in  his 
love-time  had  had  little  joy  in  his  wife,  or  indeed 
pride  in  her,  now  in  a  new  spring  of  the  affections, 
unlifted  his  heart  with  a  great  and  secret  pride 
in  his  daughter.  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  he  had 
seen  her  start  off  for  the  kirk,  dressed  as  well  as 
any  woman  there,  and  his  heart  had  been  proud. 
He  had  never  even  asked  how  she  came  by  her 
apparel.  Nance  Chrystie,  he  knew,  had  been  kind 
to  her.  And  when  Nance  set  her  heart  upon  a 
thing,  it  was  as  good  as  done. 

"  Lassie,  lassie,  this  is  an  unco  nicht  for  ye  to 
be  oot  in!"  said  Rab  without  turning  round, 
when  at  last  he  heard  his  daughter's  footsteps. 

The  Hoolet  did  not  reply.  She  went  direct 
to  a  great  wooden  servant's  chest  which  stood 
in  the  inner  room,  and  busied  herself  with  its  con- 
tents. 

"  'Lizbeth!  "  cried  her  father,  lifting  his  head 
from  his  breast. 

"  Aye,  father,"  she  said,  commanding  her  voice 
to  evenness  as  best  she  could,  "  what  is  it?  " 

"What  like  is  the  nicht?" 

The  girl  tried  to  remember,  failed,  and  grasped 
her  shawl.  It  was  covered  with  melting  snow. 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER.  261 

"  It's  dark,  and  the  snaw  has  corned  on,"  she 
answered  simply. 

"  Aye,  I  was  thinkin'  it  wad  be  a  white  nicht! 
It's  far  in  the  year  for  snaw,  but  there's  aye  a  sair 
on-ding  if  it  comes  in  March." 

The  boy,  who  has  been  known  in  the  earlier 
chapters  of  this  tale  as  "  the  De'il,"  sat  sullenly 
whittling  at  a  stick  by  the  fireside.  He  had  a 
three-legged  stool  between  his  legs.  There  was 
something  on  the  De'il's  mind.  He  was  restless, 
and  kept  eyeing  his  sister  suspiciously  as  she 
moved  here  and  there  about  the  house.  Her  hag- 
gard face  at  once  annoyed  and  frightened  him. 

The  De'il  had  something  to  say.  He  rose  and 
thrust  his  hand  under  the  broken-down  bed, 
propped  with  an  empty  soap-box  at  the  corner, 
pushing  aside  the  neat  vallance  with  which  the 
Hoolet,  since  her  conversion  to  tidiness,  had 
decorated  it.  He  drew  out  a  parcel,  stained  as 
to  its  outside  with  rain.  He  tossed  it  over  to  his 
sister. 

"  There,  Hoolet,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  ill- 
concealed  asperity,  "  there's  a  parcel  I  got  frae 
the  carrier.  The  morn's  the  Dumfries  fast,  and 
so  he  is  hame  a  day  earlier." 

The  girl  stood  as  it  had  been  stricken,  with 
the  package  in  her  hand.  Her  face  was  white  and 
more  pitiful  than  death.  For  the  white  face  of 


262  LADS'   LOVE. 

death  has  its  trouble  over,  but  the  Hoolet  had 
hers  yet  to  face. 

The  De'il's  tone  of  suspicion  quickened  Rab 
Anderson  to  look  up.  His  eye  fell  on  the  large 
brown  parcel. 

"  Wha  sent  ye  that,  'Lizbeth?"  he  asked,  a 
little  anxiously. 

"  Nance  Chrystie,  I  suppose,"  faltered  the 
girl. 

The  quick  ear  of  the  poacher  caught  an  ac- 
cent of  the  unknown,  the  terrible  in  her  voice. 
He  had  heard  something  like  it,  when  a  wild 
thing  is  taken  in  a  snare  and  first  realises  that 
escape  is  impossible. 

"Open  it!" 

Rab  Anderson's  voice  of  command  rang  out 
like  a  hammer  on  an  anvil. 

"  Nance  Chrystie  would  never  send  things 
by  the  Dumfries  and  Carlisle  carrier,"  muttered 
the  De'il,  still  more  sullenly.  The  Hoolet  threw 
a  look  at  her  brother  of  such  desperate  appeal 
that  he  added — "  that  is,  unless  she  had  written 
for  them  beforehand." 

But  the  diversion  came  too  late. 

Rab  Anderson  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
— but  most  at  the  white  face  of  his  daughter, 
standing  before  him  with  bleached  lips  ready  to 
lie  it  out. 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER.  263 

"  Open  it  up,"  he  said,  "  and  let  us  see  what's 
in  it!" 

"  It's  no  things  fit  for  a  man  to  see,  faither!  " 

she  cried  desperately,  trying  to  gather  up  the 

paper  and  escape  into  the  inner  room.    And  the 

•  Hoolet  smiled  at  her  father,  trying  pitifully  to 

break  down  that  dull  reddish  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

It  was  too  late — the  Lazy  Taed  had  been 
aroused.  Rab  Anderson  would  see  it  through  to 
the  end  now. 

"  Open  it !  "  he  commanded,  raising  his  voice, 
"  mind,  I  am  your  faither!  " 

Her  fingers  fumbled  numbly  with  the  string. 
She  might  as  well  have  tried  to  untie  the  knotted 
cords  with  her  feet. 

Rab  drew  his  sharp  skinning  knife,  and  in  a 
moment  cut  the  fastenings,  inner  and  outer.  A 
warm  woollen  shawl  lay  on  the  top.  He  stirred 
his  forefinger  amid  the  dainty  whitenesses  be- 
neath. 

As  he  did  so  his  own  face  blanched  and  drew 
itself  tense  like  his  daughter's.  He  held  up  a 
tiny  garment,  dangling  it  by  a  string. 

He  turned  and  looked  down  at  her. 

The  Hoolet  had  fallen,  face  downward,  upon 
the  oaken  settle.  Something  strange  and  unfa- 
miliar about  her  struck  her  father  and  brother 
to  the  heart.  Rab  Anderson  stood  above  his 


264  LADS'   LOVE. 

daughter.  His  knife  was  yet  in  his  hand,  and  so 
terrible  was  his  aspect,  that  the  De'il  sprang  in 
front  of  him  and  held  his  hand. 

"  Faither!  "  he  cried,  "  for  God's  sake  mind 
what  you  are  doin'." 

Rab  Anderson  looked  from  his  daughter  to 
the  white  little  tell-tale  hood  that  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"  Yours?  "  he  queried,  in  a  voice  hoarse  as  the 
Dee  in  spate,  when  it  is  heard  far  off. 

The  girl,  fascinated,  kept  her  eyes  on  his. 
There  came  into  her  face  no  look  of  denial,  to  her 
lips  no  word  of  entreaty. 

"  Are  you  married?  "  was  the  next  question, 
"tell  me  that!" 

"He  said  so,"  she  gasped,  her  lips  and  eyes 
alike  dry  and  burning — no  rushing  tears  now. 

"And  who  saw  ye  married?"  he  father  con- 
tinued. 

"  Only  him  and — and  God!"  she  replied,  using 
the  Name  she  scarce  understood  the  meaning  of. 
As  indeed  who  does? 

Her  father's  face  grew  yet  darker,  his  voice 
dropped  a  tone  lower  till  it  was  almost  inaudible. 
He  grasped  his  skinning  knife  tighter. 

"Tell  me  the  man's  name!"  he  commanded 
hoarsely,  stooping  over  her,  "  or  by  the 
Lord " 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER.  265 

"  If  ye  were  to  kill  me,  I  couldna  tell  ye  his 
name,"  she  said,  "  he  bade  me  no  to  tell!  " 

And  God  (they  say)  will  punish  such  as  she  in 
hell  forever — then  away  with  such  gods! 

"  Tell  me  the  man's  name  that  said  ye  were 
married  to  him?  " 

The  voice  of  Robert  Anderson  was  hard,  in- 
exorable, terrible  as  fate,  and  set  the  strings  of 
his  daughter's  heart  quivering. 

"  I  canna,  faither!  I  can  dee — I  wad  be  glad 
to  dee — but  I  canna  tell  ye  his  name." 

And  as  she  spoke  her  face  was  purified  and 
sweet — looking  up  at  him  from  her  knees  and 
craving  her  father  to  strike  her  dead. 

It  softened  the  strong  man;  for  indeed  Rab 
Anderson  loved  nothing  else  save  the  daughter 
of  whom  he  had  been  so  proud. 

"  My  lassie,"  he  said  almost  tenderly,  "  ye  say 
that  he  owned  ye  his  wife.  Tell  me  his  name, 
wee  lass.  Tell  yer  ain  faither.  And  he  shall  own 
ye  before  the  world — I  promise  ye  he  shall.  He 
shall  own  ye  before  God  and  man  baith!  " 

Once  more  there  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
great  tears,  too  big  to  fall. 

She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  piti- 
fully. 

"  Oh  faither,  faither,  dinna  ask  me  like  that! 


266  LADS'   LOVE. 

I  canna  tell  ye,  'deed,  I  canna.  I  promised  no'  to 
tell.  I  wad  dee  for  ye,  faither,  but  dinna  ask  me 
to  tell.  He  daurna  let  his  folk  ken  he's  married 
to  the  like  o'  me." 

He  caught  her  fiercely  by  the  wrists. 

"  'Lizbeth,  ye  shall  tell,  'fore  God  ye  shall  tell 
your  faither — who  is  the  man!  " 

There  was  no  answer;  the  gathering  lakes  in 
her  eyes  brimmed  over  at  last.  The  white  lips 
tasted  the  saltness. 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  strike,  and  she 
smiled. 

"  Yes,  yes,  faither!  "  she  whispered  eagerly. 

He  thought  she  was  about  to  give  way.  His 
hand  fell  to  his  side. 

"Weel?"  he  said  more  quietly. 

"  I  canna  tell  you,  faither,"  she  answered, 
quite  clearly,  "  but  I  wad  be  glad — glad  to  dee 
by  your  hand,  faither,  if  ye  think  they  wadna'  tak' 
you  up  for  it !  " 

The  De'il  had  been  looking  at  some  of  the 
articles  which  had  fallen  from  the  package. 

"There,  faither!"  he  cried,  spelling  some- 
thing out  slowly,  "  let  'Lizbeth  alane.  Here  is 
the  man's  name." 

And  he  read  slowly  and  painfully,  "  Nathan 
Murdoch  and  Company,  General  Outfitters, 
Bolton-le-Moors,  also  at  Preston  and  Chorley." 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER.  267 

"  Oh,  faither,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  it  isna' — it 
isna'  him!  " 

Her  father  stood  towering  over  her,  looking 
uncertainly  from  his  son  at  the  table  to  his 
daughter  on  the  oaken  settle. 

"  Ye  dinna  need  to  lee,  'Lizbeth,"  said  the 
De'il,  "  I  hae  seen  him  wi'  ye  a  score  o'  times  in 
the  Lang  Wood  o'  Larbrax.  And  so  has  far  mair 
than  me." 

Rab  Anderson  wasted  no  time.  He  put  on 
no  overcoat.  He  had  none  to  put  on.  He 
grasped  a  great,  heavy-headed  staff,  pocketed  his 
skinning  knife,  and  opening  the  door,  strode  out 
into  the  night.  The  De'il  sped  after  him  like  a 
shadow. 

The  girl  lay  on  the  oaken  settle,  dumb  and 
dazed,  till  the  night  and  the  storm  had  swallowed 
them  up  as  if  they  had  been  lost  in  the  swelter 
of  an  angry  sea.  She  rose  and  stood  a  moment 
in  thought,  with  her  hands  pressed  tightly  on 
either  side  of  her  head.  Then  she  drew  her  wet 
shawl  mechanically  about  her,  and,  blowing  out 
the  flickering  candle,  she  also  went  forth  into  the 
night  of  darkness  and  storm. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 
DROWNED  DUNCAN'S  POOL. 

It  was  a  night  when  in  spite  of  the  tumult  of 
the  elements  I  hoped  to  meet  Nance  for  a  canny 
half-hour  at  the  loaning  foot.  Mary  Grey  was 
getting  used  to  these  irregular  and  uncovenanted 
halts,  not  entered  in  the  round  book.  For  indeed 
their  blessed  frequency  was  beginning  to  deprive 
them  of  any  irregular  quality,  specially  as  Dr. 
Armstrong  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  before  I 
went  out,  "  Ye  will  find  without  doubt  that  the 
shortest  way  home  is  by  the  Nether  Neuk  road- 
end."  This  from  my  gruff  and  uncompromising 
chief  was  quite  equal  to  an  apostolic  benediction 
from  one  more  demonstrative. 

Nance  had  been  out  of  the  house  time  and 
again  to  look  for  me.  Once  more  she  threw  a 
herd's  plaid  over  her  head  with  a  deft  swing,  so 
that  it  shed  the  storm  from  about  her  as  com- 
pletely as  the  rigging  of  a  house.  But  this  night 

she   had   been   often   disappointed,    and,    as   we 

268 


DROWNED   DUNCAN'S   POOL.  269 

know,  Nance  could  not  be  called  a  young  woman 
of  infinite  patience. 

Peter  Chrystie  could  be  heard,  as  was  usual 
with  him,  alternately  lecturing  and  hectoring  in 
the  ben-room,  chiefly  for  the  benefit  of  Grace, 
but  with  a  word  or  two  to  Nance  when  she  was 
supposed  to  be  within  hearing.  The  Hempie  sat 
demurely  on  a  stool  in  the  kitchen  and  watched 
her  step-mother,  Clemmy  Kirkpatrick,  stirring 
the  porridge.  The  byre  lass  whistled  "  Ower  the 
Water  to  Charlie  "  among  the  milk-pails  in  the 
dairy,  and  a  neighbouring  ploughman,  who  dared 
not  come  into  the  kitchen  for  fear  of  that  om- 
nivorous tyrant,  Peter  Chrystie,  waited  on  chance 
favours  in  the  back  porch,  ready  to  flee  out  into 
the  night  on  the  least  alarm. 

Peter  Chrystie's  servant  lasses,  like  his  daugh- 
ters, had  to  do  their  wooing  in  the  barn  or  by 
the  dyke-back.  And  well  I  wot,  if  harm  came 
thereof,  not  the  least  share  of  the  sin,  great  or 
small,  will  one  day  when  the  Great  Balance  is 
struck,  be  debited  to  Peter  Chrystie. 

Meanwhile,  within  his  comfortable  parlour 
Peter  growled  and  rumbled  and  thundered,  till 
the  little  universe  of  Nether  Neuk  trembled  be- 
fore him.  But  Peter  the  Tyrant,  whose  least 
word  was  law,  knew  not  that  bleak  March  night 
how  soon  he  was  to  meet  his  match,  how  brittle 


2/O 


LADS'   LOVE. 


was  his  sovereignty,  how  near  and  sure  his  humili- 
ation. 

"  I'll  give  the  wretch  one  other  chance,"  said 
Nance  to  herself,  as  she  slid  the  wet  plaid  again 
about  her,  "  I'll  listen  for  his  pony's  feet,  and 
if  I  canna  hear  them  coming  up  the  wood,  I'll 
come  in  and  think  no  more  about  him.  He  could 
surely  have  been  here  by  this  time  if  he  had 
liked!" 

It  was  a  terrible  threat,  and  might  have  terri- 
fied a  lover  less  assured  than  I.  But  it  lost  much 
of  its  effect,  even  to  Nance's  own  mind  (which 
was  the  only  one  cognizant  of  it),  from  the 
fact  that  she  had  said  the  same  thing  each  of 
the  last  half-dozen  times  she  had  run  light-foot 
through  the  driving  push  of  the  storm  to  listen 
for  the  jogging  clatter  of  Mary  Grey's  horse- 
shoes. 

Nance  has  told  me  the  tale  a  thousand  times. 
I  know  all  she  heard  and  saw  that  bitter  night 
better  than  I  know  the  contents  of  my  pocket- 
book  at  this  moment,  or  the  way  to  the  pencil 
with  which  I  write  my  prescriptions. 

With  her  head  bent  low,  my  lass  made  her 
way  down  the  short  avenue,  but  did  not  open 
the  gate  nor  go  out  upon  the  road.  Instead  she 
ran  down  to  the  edge  of  the  Lang  Wood  of  Lar- 
brax,  where  it  throws  an  outlier  of  spruce  and 


DROWNED   DUNCAN'S  POOL.  27 1 

Scotch  fir  across  to  the  "  lane  "  *-side.  From  the 
corner  she  could  look  down  the  straight  piece 
of  road  which  skirted  the  gloomy  water  so  closely 
that  with  a  walking-stick  you  could  paddle  to 
and  fro  the  yellow  bulbous  water-lily  blooms  an- 
chored out  in  the  still,  black  pools  of  the  lazy, 
sluggish,  peaty  "  lane." 

The  road  glimmered  grey  between  the  black 
trees  and  the  blacker  water.  The  sleety  snow 
drave  hissingly  up  it,  and  the  wind  shrieked 
through  the  lower  under-copse  on  either  side. 
Up  on  the  heights  the  tall  beeches  and  sturdy 
oaks  boomed  and  roared  a  sonorous  diapason. 
The  pines  on  the  slopes  between  threshed  and 
soughed  and  wailed.  And  the  whole  storm  sped 
riotously  southward  through  the  narrow  throat 
of  the  glen,  hooting  with  a  thousand  horns  to 
have  escaped  the  trees,  as  if  rejoicing  to  spread 
itself  again  over  the  open  country,  where  it  might 
rage  without  check  or  obstacle  from  horizon  to 
horizon. 

Nance  looked  eagerly  down  the  road,  even  as 
the  Hoolet  had  done  earlier  in  the  evening  at  the 
Ghost's  Walk.  But  with  what  other  hopes  and 
fears!  Secure  in  her  lover's  devotion,  Nance 

*  A  "  lane "  is,  in  Galloway,  a  slow,  untrouted,  sullen,  half- 
stagnant  piece  of  water,  loitering  currentless  across  a  meadow  or 
peat-moor. 


2/2 


LADS'   LOVE. 


stamped  her  little  foot,  half  with  a  pretty  petulant 
impatience,  and  half  to  keep  it  warm.  For  Nance 
was  not  over-wise  in  this,  that  after  work-time, 
she  preferred  pretty  shoes  to  water-tight,  ugly 
ones,  and  this,  too,  in  spite  of  the  best  profes- 
sional advice. 

The  road  lay  bleak  and  bare  beneath  her,  but 
well  enough  seen  in  the  sifted,  uncertain  light 
from  the  clouds  overhead.  Nance  was  about  to 
turn  back  again.  She  had,  indeed,  already  hitched 
her  plaid  indignantly  upon  her  shoulder,  at  the 
same  time  flinging  back  the  locks  that,  wind- 
blown, flickered  about  her  brows,  all  in  one  grace- 
ful movement.  ("  My  God,  may  I  keep  her!  for 
just  such  gestures  and  dainty  habitudes  are  the 
things  it  would  break  my  heart  to  remember  were 
she  taken  from  me!  ") 

But  all  at  once,  as  she  watched  half  turned  to 
depart,  something  moved  across  the  road  be- 
neath, sped  swiftly  over  the  sprinkled  sleety  grey- 
green  of  the  water-meadow,  and  plunged  into  the 
great  black  expanse  of  Drowned  Duncan's  Pool, 
with  a  splash  which  Nance  could  distinctly  hear 
above  the  multiplied  ravings  of  the  storm. 

Nance  stood  a  moment  stilled  with  fear.  It 
was  a  superstitious  country,  that  of  Galloway, 
especially  in  older  days.  And,  praise  the  pigs, 
my  Nance  is  as  superstitious  as  every  good  worn- 


DROWNED   DUNCAN'S   POOL.  2/3 

an  ought  to  be — and  as  the  others  cannot  help 
being  in  their  heart  of  hearts. 

The  prodigy  might,  therefore,  have  been  a 
ghost,  and  at  the  thought  Nance  kilted  her  skirts 
to  run.  Or  even  the  water-kelpie,  and  at  the 
thought  she  started  light-foot  for  the  candle  in 
the  gable  window  of  Nether  Neuk,  faintly 
glimpsed  through  the  trees. 

But  as  she  was  in  act  to  flee,  a  single  human 
cry  reached  her  ears — so  piercing,  so  woman-like, 
that  Nance  was  over  the  dyke  and  racing  for  the 
black  pool  before  ever  she  gave  herself  time  to 
think. 

Almost  she  had  rushed  into  its  gloomy  depths, 
for  in  the  grey  uncertain  light  everything  looked 
much  farther  away  than  it  was  in  reality. 

"  O  tell  me  who  you  are,"  cried  Nance,  peer- 
ing into  the  blackness.  "  Can  I  help  ye?  O  how 
can  I  help  ye?  " 

But  there  came  no  voice  of  reply.  The  pool 
slept  black  from  verge  to  verge,  scarce  ruffled 
by  the  great  storm  which  leaped  across  it  over- 
head, so  deep  and  sheltered  it  lay  among  the 
pines. 

"  O  speak  to  me — speak!  "  cried  Nance,  run- 
ning hither  and  thither  on  the  marshy  verge, 
wringing  her  hands  for  fear  and  very  helpless- 
ness. 


2/4  LADS'   LOVE. 

The  moon  came  out  somewhere  up  in  the  lift, 
and  as  the  scanty,  sifted  light  struggled  through 
the  cloud-rack  overhead,  a  white  face  swam  up, 
as  it  had  been  from  the  blackest  depths  of  the 
pool.  It  was  a  peaceful  face,  the  eyes  closed,  the 
lips  a  little  open  as  if  asleep. 

Nance  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  She  could 
swim,  indeed;  but  that  was  little  useful,  for  what 
woman  could  swim  with  all  her  clothes  upon  her 
on  such  a  night,  or,  indeed,  at  any  time  in  the 
lily-tangled  depths  of  Drowned  Duncan's  Pool? 
She  saw,  however,  that  the  willows  were  grow- 
ing long  and  supple  by  the  waterside,  some  of 
them  with  their  roots  in  the  lane  itself.  She  bent 
down  the  lithe,  reluctant  shoots,  and  let  herself 
slide  fearlessly  into  the  pool,  keeping  her  hand 
firmly  on  the  pliant  tips.  Half  swimming,  half 
floating,  but  all  the  time  keeping  her  eyes  on  the 
white  face,  she  managed  to  seize  the  woman  by 
the  hair.  And  a  minute  afterwards,  dripping 
black  moss-water  from  head  to  foot,  Nance 
dragged  herself  out  upon  the  bank  with  a  still, 
quiet  body  across  her  breast. 

How  my  lass  carried  that  water-logged  bur- 
den along  the  lane-side,  through  the  gates,  and 
up  the  long  loaning  to  the  house  door  of  Nether 
Neuk  no  one  knows,  and  Nance  Chrystie  a  little 
less  than  any  one. 


DROWNED  DUNCAN'S   POOL.  275 

Nevertheless  the  thing  was  done.  And  per- 
haps after  all  the  simplest  explanation  is  the  best: 
that  God,  who  finds  the  angels  and  the  butter- 
flies their  sufficient  wings,  gave  His  messenger, 
Nance  Chrystie,  the  strength  to  carry  her  burden 
home  that  night. 

Within  ten  minutes,  Nance  staggered  into 
the  kitchen  of  Nether  Neuk  with  the  unconscious 
Hoolet  in  her  arms,  to  the  terror  of  Grace  and 
the  Hempie,  and  more  especially  to  the  infinite 
shrill  indignation  and  dismay  of  Peter  Chrystie, 
who  came  stumbling  and  peering  out  of  the  par- 
lour to  confront  such  a  spectacle  as  he  had  never 
in  his  life  seen  in  his  sober  outer  halls — his  daugh- 
ter Nance  running  black  water  from  head  to  heel, 
and  supporting  in  her  arms  a  pale,  white-faced 
form,  with  closed  eyes  and  long  black  hair  that 
swept  the  floor. 

"  Wha  is  this,  I  wad  like  to  ken,  that  ye  are 
bringing  in  here?  "  he  cried.  "  Surely  not  that 
runnagate  besom,  Rab  An'erson's  Hoolet,  that 
has  made  herself  the  byeword  of  every  clash  in 
the  country-side?  Ye  are  fair  crazy,  Nance  Chrys- 
tie! She  is  no'  comin'  into  my  decent  hoose,  I 
tell  ye  plainly,  dreepin'  on  my  guid  carpets  that 
cost  sae  muckle  hard-earned  siller!  Tak'  her  oot 
to  the  barn.  There's  a  tramp's  bed  there  for 
siclike  folk,  very  decent  and  comfortable.  She's 
19 


276  LADS'   LOVE. 

no  comin'  in  here,  I  tell  ye.  D'ye  hear  me?  I 
will  be  obeyed!  " 

His  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  scream  of  anger, 
and  the  retainers  shrank  before  it.  Even  the 
Hempie  trembled,  and  his  poor  wife  betook  her- 
self to  the  back  premises  to  be  out  of  the  way  of 
the  coming  fury. 

"Aye,  take  her  there!  For  ony  sake  dinna 
anger  my  faither,"  said  Grace,  ever  zealous  for 
the  easier  course. 

Nance  stood  with  her  burden  on  her  arms,  as 
if  the  well-grown  girl  had  been  but  a  feather.  I 
declare  I  could  not  have  done  it  myself.  And 
they  say  that  she  seemed  a  foot  higher  of  her 
stature.  She  gave  Grace  just  one  glance  of  con- 
tempt, and  strode  forward.  She  fairly  towered 
above  her  father,  who  stood  shaking  his  clenched 
fists  before  her  in  the  doorway. 

"  Out  of  my  road,  man,"  she  cried  to  him; 
"  meddle  not  with  me  this  night,  I  warn  you,  on 
your  peril,  sir!  " 

And  she  advanced  so  suddenly  and  so  fiercely 
towards  the  parlour  door  in  which  Peter  stood 
on  the  defensive,  that  her  father  actually  re- 
treated in  shrill  trepidation,  leaving  the  way  clear. 

Nance  swept  past  him  with  the  Hoolet  still 
in  her  arms,  flashing  through  the  parlour  where 
sat  the  astonished  laird  of  Butterhole,  storm- 


DROWNED   DUNCAN'S   POOL. 


277 


stayed  for  the  night,  and  counting  himself  won- 
drous comfortable  with  a  reeking  tumbler  at  his 
elbow. 

Then  in  the  sacred  "  spare-room  "  itself — the 
best  bedroom  of  Nether  Neuk,  she  laid  her  bur- 
den down  on  the  sofa. 

The  Hoolet  had  not  been  long  in  the  water, 
only  a  minute  or  two — "  she  cannot  be  dead," 
Nance  said  to  those  who  had  followed  her,  be- 
wildered. "  Here,  Hempie,  put  on  a  fire.  Clem- 
my  Kirkpatrick,  come  you  and  help  me  to  re- 
store her  breathing." 

And  in  a  moment  she  had  the  fire  lit,  the 
Hempie  despatched  to  bring  a  supply  of  hot  bot- 
tles and  bricks,  and  she  herself  was  instructing 
Clemmy  Kirkpatrick  in  the  modes  of  restoring 
artificial  breathing,  as  cleverly  as  if  the  diploma 
had  been  her  own.  First  they  turned  the  poor 
Hoolet  on  her  face  to  let  the  water  drip  out  of 
the  air-passages  of  the  nostrils  and  mouth.  Then 
she  was  replaced  on  her  back  to  enable  Clemmy 
and  Nance  to  raise  the  arms  above  her  head,  and 
again  depress  them  to  compel  the  air  to  fill  the 
cavity  of  the  chest. 

The  Hoolet  had,  indeed,  not  been  long  in  the 
water,  thanks  to  the  bravery  and  promptitude  of 
Nance,  so  that  after  a  little  while  of  hard  and 
anxious  work,  she  gave  a  long  sigh,  and  opened 


278 


LADS'    LOVE. 


her  eyes  upon  the  world  she  had  thought  to  quit 
for  ever. 

"  I  couldna  win  to  him  in  time,"  she  said, 
and  slipped  back  into  unconsciousness. 

Then  it  was  that,  for  the  first  time,  Nance 
became  conscious  of  her  father's  vehement  re- 
proaches, which  had  been  proceeding  in  a  steady 
stream  from  the  door  at  which  he  stood,  shaking 
his  fist  in  impotent  anger. 

"  I  disown  ye,  impudent  besom!  "  he  cried, 
"  bringing  an  infamous  woman  to  my  decent 
house.  I  bid  ye  tak'  her  oot.  I  am  master  here, 
and  that  ye  shall  ken.  I  command  ye!  " 

It  was  no  time  for  over-niceity  in  regard  to 
the  observation  of  the  fifth  commandment.  So 
what  particular  command  Peter  Chrystie  laid 
upon  his  eldest  daughter  will  probably  never  be 
known.  For  the  impetuous  young  woman  ad- 
vanced like  a  whirlwind  to  the  door  at  which  he 
stood  fulminating.  She  promptly  seized  her  fa- 
ther by  the  arm  and  ran  him  through  the  parlour. 
The  rapid  passage  of  father  and  daughter  was 
so  alarming  to  the  Laird  of  Butterhole,  that  he 
exclaimed  "  Lord  save  us!  What's  this!  What's 
this!  "  and  collapsed  on  the  floor, where  he  groped 
vainly  in  his  pockets  for  a  snuff-box  in  order  to 
collect  his  senses.  Before  she  stayed  the  im- 
petuosity of  her  charge,  Nance  had  her  father 


DROWNED  DUNCAN'S   POOL. 


279 


safe  in  his  bedroom  upstairs,  where  a  fire  had  al- 
ready been  made  for  him. 

"  Now,  bide  ye  there  and  say  your  says  at 
your  leisure,  faither,"  she  exclaimed;  "  I'll  bring 
ye  your  supper  mysel'!  " 

Peter  Chrystie  was  too  astonished  even  to 
swear  at  his  daughter  as  she  went  down  the  stairs, 
but  after  a  little  he  shook  the  door  and  shouted 
till  the  plaster  began  to  flake  off  the  ceiling. 
Nevertheless,  the  hinges  held,  and  the  key  was 
safe  in  Nance's  pocket. 

The  Hoolet  was  soon  in  bed  under  warm 
blankets,  and  when  at  last  I  arrived,  having  been 
intercepted  at  the  loaning-end  by  a  ploughman 
who  knew  of  my  passing,  there  was  little  for  me 
to  do,  except  to  congratulate  the  heroine. 

"  O  Nance,  Nance,"  I  said,  "  was  there  ever  a 
lass  like  you?  You  are  the  bravest " 

"  Dinna  speak  to  me,  Alec — I  canna  bear  it !  " 
she  said,  beginning  to  sob  with  the  reaction. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Nance;  there  is  nothing  to 
greet  aboot!  " 

"  I'm  no  greetin' — at  ony  rate,  I  suppose  I 
may  greet  if  I  like  without  askin'  your  leave!  " 

And  with  these  defiant  words  our  brave  maid 
subsided  on  a  stool,  and  began  to  weep  into  her 
hands  till  the  tears  ran  through  her  fingers.  Then 
quite  as  suddenly  she  began  to  laugh. 


280  LAD'S  LOVE. 

"  See!  "  she  cried,  "  ye  have  one  o'  your  socks 
on  inside  oot,  Alec.  Is  that  no'  silly?  " 

And  she  laughed  on  about  the  stocking  till  I 
liked  it  far  less  than  the  crying. 

But  presently  she  grew  quieter,  dried  her  face, 
and  went  in  to  take  a  look  at  the  patient,  who 
was  now  sleeping  peacefully. 

"  I  maun  tak'  my  faither  his  supper,"  said 
Nance.  And  in  a  few  minutes,  with  Clemmy 
Kirkpatrick  carrying  the  tray,  and  the  Hempie 
in  the  rear  to  guard  the  door,  the  forces  of  organ- 
ised rebellion  proceeded  upstairs  to  Peter's  room. 

The  noise  when  the  door  was  opened  could 
be  heard  across  the  yard,  but  the  doughty  Peter 
contented  himself  with  words.  At  first  he  re- 
fused all  compromise.  He  would  turn  every  one 
of  them  out  of  doors  that  instant.  He  threw  an 
empty  plate  at  Nance,  which  the  Hempie  caught 
as  deftly  as  if  it  had  been  a  cap  at  "  steal-the- 
bonnets." 

"  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy,  faither,"  said 
Nance  soothingly.  "  Dr.  M'Quhirr  is  paying  the 
patient  every  attention." 

"Dr.  M'Deevil!"  shouted  Peter,  dancing 
about  on  his  tiptoes  with  his  hands  above  his 
head.  "  How  dare  he  come  into  my  house? — 
'  Doctor  '  indeed — I'll  '  doctor  '  him.  What 
fetched  him  here,  I  wad  like  to  ken?  " 


DROWNED   DUNCAN'S   POOL.  28l 

"  Tarn  Murchison  met  him  on  the  road  and 
brought  him  up,"  answered  Nance  demurely. 

I  grieve  to  say  that  the  possession  of  a  duly 
qualified  professional  man  on  the  premises  had 
not  the  effect  of  easing  the  mind  of  the  master 
of  Nether  Neuk.  Nor  is  it  requisite  to  state  the 
depths  of  perdition  to  which  all  my  house,  and  all 
the  M'Quhirrs  to  unborn  generations,  were  forth- 
with consigned. 

"Aweel,  a  guid  nicht's  rest  to  ye,  faither!" 
were  the  last  words  of  his  dutiful  daughter,  as  she 
went  out  and  locked  the  door  upon  him.  "  If  ye 
want  me,  just  rap  doon  \vi'  your  stick.  The  Hem- 
pie  and  me  and  the  Doctor  will  be  sittin'  up  wi* 
the  patient  in  the  best  bedroom  just  below  ye. 
We  will  no  be  sleeping." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE   FISCAL'S   EXAMINATION. 

However,  on  the  morrow,  I  committed  the 
case  to  Dr.  Armstrong,  not  only  because  my 
presence  caused  friction  in  the  Nether  Neuk 
household,  but  also  because  a  still  graver  case 
occupied  all  my  time,  and,  indeed,  the  attention 
of  the  whole  parish.  I  got  the  first  news  as  I 
drove  leisurely  down  the  loaning  from  the  farm 
in  the  morning. 

Nathan  Murdoch,  so  Tarn  Murchison  said, 
had  been  found  at  the  upper  end  of  the  Lang 
Wood,  murdered;  and  the  police  from  Cairn  Ed- 
ward were  already  seeking  Rab  Anderson. 

The  ill  news  was  soon  carried  to  Peter  Chrys- 
tie,  who  had  found  his  room  unlocked  in  the 
morning.  He  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  neither 
to  hold  nor  to  bind.  He  would  have  marched 
.straight  into  the  "  best  room  "  in  which  the  poor 
Hoolet  was  bestowed,  still  sleeping  quietly  from 

the  draught  I  had  given  her.    Luckily,  however, 

282 


THE    FISCAL'S   EXAMINATION.  283 

Nance  was  there  in  attendance  on  Dr.  Armstrong. 
Intercepting  her  father  in  the  passage,  she 
wheeled  him  about  promptly,  and  sent  him  to 
mumble  out  his  indignations  and  griefs  in  the 
parlour,  where  the  bemused  and  bewildered  laird 
of  Butterhole  kept  him  company,  doubtless  con- 
gratulating himself  that  he  had  not  committed 
himself  to  the  tender  mercies  of  such  a  whirlwind 
as  Nance  Chrystie. 

Then,  as  Dr.  Armstrong  went  out,  that  sturdy 
and  fearless  autocrat,  for  thirty  years  the  tyrant 
of  all  that  concerned  health  and  life  in  the  parish 
of  Whinnyliggate,  gave  Peter  the  historical 
"  dressing  "  of  which  the  ploughmen  and  servant 
lassies  still  talk. 

"Nance  was  grand!"  they  said  afterwards, 
discussing  the  whole  subject,  "  but  then  she  said 
little  and  the  fun  was  sune  ower.  She  juist  ran 
the  auld  wretch  through  the  hoose  like  a  man 
wheelin'  peats  in  a  barrow,  and  dumped  him  doon 
wi'  a  clash  in  his  ain  bedroom.  Then  the  door 
was  lockit  as  quick  as  wink,  an'  a'  that  ye  heard 
after  that  was  juist  the  birr  o'  an  oath  at  odd 
whiles — refreshing  but  no'  exactly  satisfyin'.  It 
only  made  ye  wish  for  mair!  But  Lord!  the  Doc- 
tor— he  juist  fairly  garred  the  auld  man's  flesh 
creep  on  his  banes  wi'  his  lang-nebbit  words." 

The  doctor's  famous  polysyllables  need  not 


284  LADS'   LOVE. 

occupy  us  in  this  place,  though  I  have  them  by 
heart  and  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  re- 
peat them. 

The  substance  of  his  speech  was,  that  if  Peter 
interfered  by  word  or  deed,  with  his  (Dr.  Arm- 
strong's) patient,  lying  then  in  the  best  room  of 
Nether  Neuk — nay,  if  he  so  much  as  set  foot 
within  the  passage  or  let  the  sound  of  his  voice 
reach  her  for  harm — he  would  instantly  jail  the 
evil-doer,  and  have  him  tried  for  manslaughter, 
if  not  for  MURDER! 

The  doctor  rolled  out  his  climax  with  a  rasp 
on  the  r-r-rs  of  the  last  word,  like  a  well-driven 
saw  meeting  a  nail  in  the  log. 

Peter  quailed  before  him,  and  his  eyes,  in  spite 
of  himself,  sought  the  floor. 

"  Now  mind,"  said  the  doctor,  shaking  his  fin- 
ger solemnly  at  his  enemy,  "  I  am  warning  ye. 
You  have  heard  what  I  did  to  Joe  M'Cormick 
in  Little  Dublin  when  he  interfered  with  his 
mother,  when  the  auld  besom  was  a  patient  of 
mine.  Joe  persisted  in  entering  the  apartment 
when  his  mother  was  in  a  state  of  coma — his  loud 
talk  aroused  the  patient,  complications  were  in- 
troduced, and  the  patient  died.  /  got  Joe  seven 
years  !  " 

And  the  doctor  stalked  out  a  victor.  He  did 
not  mention  that  Joe  had  assaulted  his  mother 


THE   FISCAL'S   EXAMINATION.  285 

as  she  lay  helpless  on  her  bed  with-  a  three-legged 
stool,  and  that  the  seven  years'  penal  servitude 
might  possibly  have  as  much  to  do  with  that  as 
with  interfering  with  Dr.  Armstrong's  patient. 

But  none  dared  contradict  what  had  been  re- 
peated so  often,  that  it  was  held  for  Gospel  truth 
by  the  whole  country-side,  and  at  last  had  come 
to  be  fully  believed  by  its  original  author. 

After  this  harangue,  the  cowed  tyrant  of 
Nether  Neuk  crept  cautiously  to  the  bedroom 
door  every  morning  and  called  his  wife,  who  wait- 
ed upon  the  Hoolet  in  the  absence  of  Nance.  The 
emancipated  Clemmy  Kirkpatrick  would  come 
with  finger  on  lip  and  speak  with  her  husband 
in  the  gate. 

Then,  with  a  string  of  oaths  rumbling  under 
his  breath,  he  would  say  cautiously,  "  Hoo  is  she, 
the  blastie,  the  besom,  the  shameless  Turk?  She's 
no  in  a  state  of  comey,  is  she?  " 

"  Na,"  his  wife  would  reply,  "  she's  sleepin'." 

"  That's  a  guid  thing,  at  ony  rate,"  says 
Peter,  shaking  his  head,  "  for  if  I  were  to  put  her 
into  a  state  o'  comey,  yon  doctor  brute  said  he 
wad  get  me  seven  year  like  Joe  M'Cormick!  " 

Then  Peter  would  walk  away,  satisfied  that  at 
least  he  was  safe  so  far,  but  taking  revenge  upon 
all  concerned  with  his  humiliation  in  a  steady 
pour  of  imprecations  of  the  most  varied  kind,  all 


286  LADS'    LOVE. 

carefully  modulated  with  a  view  to  avoiding  the 
threatened  seven  years,  and  hissed  between  his 
teeth  rather  than  spoken — "  O,  the  feckless 
ill-conditioned  randy,  the  guid-for-naething 
slut " 

The  senseless  body  of  Nathan  Murdoch  had 
been  found  in  the  morning  at  the  head  end  of  the 
Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax,  and  near  it,  a  thick 
black-thorn  cudgel  broken  short  off  a  foot  from 
the  head,  which  had  evidently  been  used  in  caus- 
ing the  terrible  wounds  on  the  head  of  the  victim. 

The  wounded  man  had  been  carried,  appar- 
ently in  a  dying  state,  to  my  father's  house  of 
Drumquhat,  and  was,  therefore,  now  in  the  best 
hands.  I  had  been  at  once  sent  for  from  Nether 
Neuk,  Dr.  Armstrong  not  yet  having  arrived 
from  Cairn  Edward. 

At  first  I  was  inclined  to  despair  of  the  case. 
For  there  was  not  only  a  severe  contused  cut 
behind  the  ear,  but  also  a  deep  and  severe  wound, 
with  well-marked  depression,  just  above  the  left 
temple.  Added  to  this  there  were  the  ordinary 
symptoms  of  severe  compression  of  the  brain. 

When  Dr.  Armstrong  saw  the  wounds,  he 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  bade  me  take 
heart.  "  With  the  head,"  he  said,  "  you  never 
can  tell.  It  never  does  to  mislippen  the  scart  o' 
a  pin  on  the  thickest  skull,  nor  yet  to  despond 


THE    FISCAL'S   EXAMINATION.  28/ 

aboot  a  crack  ye  micht  put  your  finger  in.  Mony 
a  body  has  leeved  lang  and  lang  wi'  a  crack  i'  their 
heads.  Ye  wadna  doot  that,  Alec,  gin  ye  kenned 
this  pairish  as  well  as  I  do,  laddie!  " 

I  found  my  worthy  mother  wonderfully  calm 
under  the  severe  trial  of  finding  her  serene  home 
suddenly  invaded  by  a  wounded  and  unconscious 
stranger,  and  one  so  generally  undesirable.  Also, 
as  soon  as  she  knew  all,  she  had  her  usual  quick 
revulsions  of  feeling. 

"  Puir  lassie!"  she  would  say;  "  puir,  puir 
lassie!  And  ye  say  the  vagabond  deceived  her — 
pretended  to  mairry  her  and  then — O  the  wretch, 
I  wadna  do  a  thing  to  save  him  frae  the  Black 
Hole!  Alec,  I  believe  it's  time  the  puir  craitur 
had  his  draps!  " 

Then,  as  she  was  opening  the  clenched  teeth 
characteristic  of  such  cases,  with  a  silver  fork 
(which  was  never  again  seen  in  family  history),  I 
could  hear  her  muttering  to  herself,  "  Lord  forgie 
me!  it's  no  for  your  sake,  ye  black  deceiver!  It's 
to  keep  that  puir,  misguided  lad,  Rab  Anderson, 
frae  the  gallows — I  wonder  what  cauld,  dreepin' 
moss-hag  he  is  hidin'  in  this  nicht?" 

Many  more  wondered  that  besides  my  mother. 
The  police  were  said  to  be  close  on  the  trail.  As 
usual,  they  had  not  caught  the  criminal,  but  there 
were  clews  galore.  The  authorities  were  sending 


288  LADS'   LOVE. 

down  a  special  detective  from  Edinburgh.  The 
capture  of  the  miscreant  was  imminent.  Never- 
theless, in  spite  of  such  determined  displays  of 
energy,  Rab  remained  at  liberty. 

By  special  command,  I  went  over  to  Nether 
Neuk  to  see  my  first  patient.  Nance  was  wait- 
ing for  me  at  the  corner,  as  I  threw  Mary  Grey's 
rein  over  the  gatepost. 

"  No,"  said  my  lass,  without  informing  me 
what  unspoken  statement  of  mine  she  denied; 
"  come  this  way,  quietly — not  like  a  bullock, 
man!" 

I  followed  her  into  the  cheese-room,  a  pleas- 
antly scented  apartment,  bare,  dry,  and  airy,  with 
large  cheeses  in  rows  all  round,  laid  upon  a  frame- 
work set  a  few  feet  from  the  wall.  Two  long 
frames  extended  all  the  way  along  the  sides  of 
the  room,  and  at  the  top,  between  two  deep  win- 
dows, there  was  a  smaller  press,  also  filled  with 
the  great,  mellow,  round  discs. 

"  Take  out  these  three!  "  commanded  Nance, 
"  lay  them  on  the  floor.  Now  look  in!  " 

I  stooped  obediently,  and  there,  staring  out 
of  the  space  between  the  shelves,  was  the  shock 
head  of  Robert  Anderson,  malefactor! 

A  solemn  conclave  was  assembled  in  the  par- 
lour of  Nether  Neuk.  The  Fiscal,  all  important 


THE   FISCAL'S   EXAMINATION.  289 

Scottish  legal  functionary — public  prosecutor, 
coroner,  counsel  for  the  crown,  shrewd  and  kindly 
gentleman  all  in  one,  was  seated  precognoscing 
evidence.  He  had  before  him  a  pen,  a  blotter,  an 
ink-stand,  many  sheets  of  paper — and  a  glass  of 
whisky. 

"  And  now,  Doctor  McQuhirr  (Alexander, 
Junior,  M.  B.,  C.  M.,  Edinburgh),  tell  us  what 
you  know  of  this  matter." 

The  Fiscal,  Mr.  Stephen  Williamson,  rubbed 
his  forefinger  officially  through  his  scant  legal 
side-whisker,  and  tapped  the  paper  before  him 
with  the  blunt  end  of  his  pencil.  There  was  a 
shrewd  omniscient  look  in  his  short-sighted  eyes 
of  china  blue,  and  in  his  nod  especially  an  expres- 
sion of  assured  and  invincible  fore-knowledge 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  I  know  all  that  you  know, 
and  more.  I  am  intimately  acquainted  with  all 
you  are  going  to  say.  But,  nevertheless,  for 
form's  sake,  you  had  better  get  along  and  say  it." 

At  the  first  glance  I  was  quite  sure  that  Mr. 
Stephen  Williamson  must  be  acquainted  with  the 
secret  of  the  cheese-room. 

"  Tell  us  all  that  you  know  about  the  matter," 
he  said,  nodding  as  before. 

Thus  encouraged,  I  entered  into  minute  par- 
ticulars about  the  finding  of  the  body.  I  de- 
scribed the  wounds  on  the  temple  and  cerebellum. 


290 


LADS'   LOVE. 


I  told  him  of  sutures  and  trepanning,  venous 
sinuses,  and  cephalic  compressions,  while  Dr. 
Armstrong  stood  in  the  doorway  and  smiled  com- 
passionately. 

"  Was  a'  that  correct?  "  he  asked  me  private- 
ly afterwards. 

I  assured  him  that  it  was,  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief. 

"  Aweel,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh,  "  as  the 
dried-up  lawyer  body  was  taking  it  doon  in  black 
and  white,  maybe  it  was  as  weel.  But  ordinary- 
wise,  it  doesna  do  to  cocker  them  up  wi'  ower 
muckle  o'  the  exact  sciences." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ENTER    RAB    AN'ERSON. 

Meanwhile,  the  fiscal  was  summing  up  appar- 
ently for  his  own  benefit,  really  for  ours. 

"  The  evidence,"  he  said,  "  against  the  crim- 
inal is  singularly  complete.  Indeed,  the  case  may 
be  called  a  beautifully  rounded  one.  There  is  the 
victim,  not  yet  dead,  but  in  a  state  of  coma " 

"Lord,  lord!  is  it  come  to  that!  It's  a*  up 
wi'  Rab  An'erson  then!"  cried  Peter  Chrystie, 
holding  up  his  hands;  "  and  they  telled  me  he  was 
sleepin'  sound! " 

"  Then  there  is  the  motive — revenge  on  the 
reputed  seducer  of  his  daughter,  who,  that  same 
night,  endeavoured  to  drown  herself,  and  was 
only  rescued  by  the  courage  and  determination 
of  one  of  our  fairest  and  noblest  young " 

The  fiscal,  who  was  distinctly  a  man  of  taste, 
looked  about  for  Nance,  but  it  was  her  father's 
rasping  voice  which  broke  in  upon  the  excessively 
unlegal  adjectives. 

20  2QI 


292 


LADS'    LOVE. 


"  O  the  randy,  the  blake,  the  shameless  be- 
som," said  Peter  Chrystie,  in  a  perfectly  audible 
aside,  "  bringin'  the  shameless  woman  to  my  de- 
cent hoose!  What  for  couldna  she  hae  left  the 
jade  to  droon  hersel'  in  Duncan's  Pool  if  she 
liked?  " 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  tell  us,  doc- 
tor? " 

I  hesitated.  There  was  one  thing  more — in- 
deed two.  I  was  prevented  from  telling  the 
whole  truth,  for  the  mystery  of  the  cheese-room 
must  be  kept.  But  at  least  I  might  reveal  the 
secret  of  the  over-heard  tryst,  under  cloud  of 
night,  in  the  grassy  loop  of  the  Wood  of  Lar- 
brax. 

Yet  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  tell,  for  it  in- 
volved Nance  and  the  Hempie  as  well  as  myself. 
Nevertheless,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  Hoolet,  I 
did  not  hesitate. 

"  We  were  in  the  Lang  Wood  one  evening, 
about  a  year  ago — I  can  tell  you  the  exact  date 
by  reference  to  a  pocket-book  which  is  at  Dr. 
Armstrong's  house  in  Cairn-Edward." 

"  And  who  are  the  '  we '  of  whom  you  speak 
— Dr.  Armstrong  and  yourself?  "  queried  the  fis- 
cal, pausing  to  note  my  evidence. 

"  No,"  said  I,  hesitating;  "  in  fact  it  was  Miss 
Nance  Chrystie  and " 


ENTER   RAB   AN'ERSON. 


293 


The  fiscal  cleared  his  throat  meaningly,  and 
drew  his  chair  up  closer  to  the  table.  The  case 
was  developing.  "  And  yourself,  I  presume,"  he 
said. 

"  Miss  Chrystie,  Miss  Elizabeth  Chrystie  and 
myself!  "  I  corrected,  with  dignity. 

"  I  see.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor,  a 
scientific  expedition  to  the  Lang  Wood  of 
Larbrax — in  the  evening,  I  think  you  said? " 
slowly  repeated  the  fiscal,  noting  down  the 
facts. 

"  And  Miss  Elizabeth  Chrystie,  I  think  you 
said?  "  he  went  on. 

"  Elizabeth  Jane — O  wait  till  I  get  the  mon- 
key, the  treacherous  besom,  the  leein',  upsettin' 
blastie!  "  Peter  Chrystie's  ceaseless  subterranean 
growl  rose  momentarily  to  the  surface  in  order 
to  make  a  correction  in  the  name  of  his  youngest 
daughter. 

"  So,  Doctor,  the  three  of  you,  Miss  Chrystie, 
Miss  Elizabeth  Jane  (am  I  correct?),  and  your- 
self took  an  evening  walk  on  the  blank  of  blank, 
last  year  to  the  Lang  Wood  of  Larbrax.  And 
what  did  you  hear  or  see  there,  bearing  upon  the 
case  now  before  us?  " 

"  We  saw  two  people  meet.  We  heard  them 
talk.  We  heard  the  man  make  a  sham  declara- 
tion of  marriage  with  the  woman " 


294  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  Their  names,  supposing  that  you  recognised 
them  clearly " 

"  They  were  Nathan  Murdoch  and  'Lizbeth 
Anderson,  commonly  called  the  Hoolet ! "  inter- 
rupted Nance  from  the  doorway  of  the  passage 
which  led  to  the  Hoolet's  room. 

The  fiscal  bowed  towards  her  in  a  deprecating 
way,  which  at  once  thanked  her  for  the  informa- 
tion, and  insinuated  that  at  present  someone  else 
was  under  examination. 

"Describe  the  meeting  exactly!"  he  said, 
"  it  may  furnish  important  evidence  as  to  mo- 
tive!" 

I  did  so  amid  breathless  silence.  When  I 
came  to  the  mutual  declaration  of  marriage,  the 
fiscal  raised  his  head  quickly  and  cocked  it  a  little 
to  one  side,  like  a  terrier  at  a  rat-hole. 

"  Say  that  again,  very  exactly,  if  you  please 
— repeat  the  exact  words  of  the  promises!  " 

I  did  so. 

"  I  TAKE  THEE  TO  BE  MY  WEDDED  WIFE ; 
AND  I  PROMISE  TO  BE  UNTO  THEE  A  FAITHFUL 
AND  LOVING  HUSBAND  TILL  DEATH  US  DO  PART !  " 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  heard  Nathan  Mur- 
doch say  that?  " 

"  I  did,  on  my  oath." 

"And  the  woman,  Elizabeth  Anderson,  you 
heard  her  make  a  similar  declaration?  " 


ENTER    RAB   AN'ERSON.  295 

The  fiscal  was  on  his  feet  now  in  his  excite- 
ment. 

"  Certainly,  and  Nance  and  the  Hempie  heard 
her  also! " 

"  Then,"  said  the  fiscal  solemnly,  striking 
his  fist  sonorously  on  the  table,  "  I  tell  you 
that  these  two  are  as  well  and  soundly  mar- 
rie,d  as  they  can  be  under  the  Law  of  Scot- 
land!" 

"  What!  "  cried  Peter  Chrystie;  "  ye  say  that 
the  besom  is  a  married  wife — and  the  bairn — 
impossible,  perfect  nonsense,  fiscal!  Nathan  Mur- 
doch wad  never  hae  been  sic  a  fool.  It  was  done 
in  inadvertence,  I  tell  you.  He  micht  hae  said  it 
to  deceive  the  craitur,  but  surely — where  are  the 
witnesses ?  " 

"  Here!  "  said  the  Hempie,  standing  up  be- 
side me. 

"  Here!  "  cried  Nance,  appearing  in  the  door- 
way with  an  infant  in  her  arms. 

"  Tak'  away  the  child  o'  shame!  "  cried  Peter, 
"  away  wi'  the  brat  oot  o'  my  sicht !  " 

The  fiscal  looked  at  him  sternly. 

"Silence,  sir!"  he  said,  "your  observations 
are  wholly  irrelevant.  The  witnesses,  let  me  tell 
you,  are  perfectly  admissible  in  law,  though  both 
parties  were  unaware  of  their  presence.  The  mar- 
riage, made  by  declaration  in  the  presence  of 


296  LADS'   LOVE. 

three  reputable  witnesses,  is  as  good  as  your  own 
— or  even  mine." 

He  added  the  latter  clause  with  something 
like  a  sigh.  He  had  reasons  for  wishing  that 
there  had  been  some  flaw  in  the  last  men- 
tioned. 

"  I  repeat  it,"  he  said,  "  the  marriage  is  doubt- 
less entirely  legal " 

The  outer  door  of  Nether  Neuk  burst  open 
and  clashed  against  the  wall.  A  man,  haggard 
and  worn  with  watching,  stained  with  the  peat 
of  the  moors  and  with  the  grey  clay  of  burn-sides, 
stood  before  us,  towering  like  a  gaunt  giant,  al- 
most to  the  blackened  joists  of  the  old  farm- 
house. 

It  was  the  accused  man  himself,  Robert 
Anderson!  " 

"  Say  that  again,  fiscal,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  anxiety. 

The  man  of  law,  startled  out  of  his  official 
dignity  by  the  sudden  apparition,  did  as  he  was 
bid. 

"And  the  bairn!"  cried  Rab  with  eagerness 
in  his  voice,  "  I  heard  it  greet." 

'  The  child  is  perfectly  legitimate,"  answered 
the  fiscal. 

"  Then  I  have  killed  an  innocent  man,"  cried 
Rab  Anderson;  "take  me  away  to  gaol." 


ENTER   RAB  AN'ERSON. 


297 


And  he  came  forward  to  the  fiscal  with  his 
wrists  close  together,  waiting  for  the  hand- 
cuffs. 

The  fiscal  was  entirely  nonplussed.  He  had 
come  out  to  precognosce  evidence,  not  to  appre- 
hend the  criminal — which,  indeed,  was  not  his 
business. 

"  I — I  will  communicate  with  the  chief  con- 
stable," he  said,  falteringly. 

But  before  fiscal  or  anyone  else  could  come 
to  their  senses  and  decide  what  to  do  in  these  un- 
foreseen circumstances,  Nance,  with  the  baby  still 
in  her  arms,  darted  across  the  parlour  to  where 
Rab  Anderson  was  standing  with  his  wrists  still 
stretched  out.  She  took  him  by  the  shoulder 
with  her  unoccupied  hand,  and  hustled  him  into 
the  kitchen. 

I  followed  as  quickly  as  I  could.  Nance  had 
Rab  against  the  dresser,  and  was  at  once  shaking 
him,  protecting  the  babe,  and  haranguing  the  be- 
wildered giant. 

"  Ye  daft  loon,"  she  was  saying,  "  what  garred 
ye  leave  the  cheese  room? — How  dared  ye  when 
I  forbade  ye?  " 

Rab  stared  vaguely,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  And  what  now?  "  she  cried.  "  What  do  you 
propose  to  do,  after  a'  my  care  o'  ye,  ye  shame- 
less and  ungratefu'  blackguard?  " 


298  LADS'   LOVE. 

"  I  am  gaun  to  the  gaol  at  Kirkcudbright," 
said  Rab  sullenly. 

"Aye,"  said  Nance,  "ye  will,  will  ye?  We'll 
see  aboot  that.  Through  the  door  wi'  ye  the 
noo,  my  man,  and  we'll  speak  aboot  that  after- 
wards. Into  the  Wood  o'  Larbrax  wi'  ye  as  fast 
as  ye  can  foot  it!  D'ye  think  Nance  Chrystie  will 
let  ye  disgrace  your  daughter  that  is  a  wedded 
wife,  or  let  this  bonnie  wee  man  be  obliged  to 
own  that  his  ain  grandfather  was  hanged  on  the 
black  gallows'  tree?  " 

She  held  the  outer  door  open  with  one  hand. 
The  babe  smiled  up  in  the  criminal's  face.  She 
pointed  to  the  pines  along  the  hillside. 

"Away  wi'  ye! "  she  commanded. 

The  fiscal  appeared  at  the  door.  Rab  was  al-* 
ready  half-way  to  the  march-dyke. 

"  Stop  him!  Seize  him!  In  the  name  of  the 
Law!  "  cried  the  fiscal  in  his  most  official  voice, 
but  with  mighty  little  conviction  in  his  tone. 

And  I  think  the  worthy  man  winked  to  him- 
self privately,  for  he  had  been  so  long  gathering 
his  papers  that  the  criminal  had  an  excellent 
start. 

"Take  him,  in  the  name  of  the  Law!"  he 
cried  again  with  additional  energy,  when  he  had 
made  sure  that  no  one  was  following. 

The  serving-men  shook  their  heads. 


ENTER   RAB   AN'ERSON. 


299 


"  I  daresay,"  said  Davit  Walkinshaw.  "  Let 
the  Law  do  its  ain  jobs  at  catchin'  Rab  An'erson 
in  the  Lang  Wood  o'  Larbrax.  I'm  gaun  to  look 
the  sheep.  That's  what  I'm  paid  for! " 

And  then  the  fiscal  went  back  to  the  parlour 
not  ill  content,  and  smiled  at  Nance,  who  made 
him  a  dish  of  tea. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MISTRESS   BRIDGET   MACCORMICK. 

Four  days  afterwards  I  was  again  at  Nether 
Neuk.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  had  been  absent 
from  the  purlieus  of  the  farm  for  three  entire 
days.  I  was,  indeed,  compelled  to  pass  it  every 
day  in  the  way  of  duty,  on  my  way  to  see  the 
wounded  man  at  Drumquhat.  He  still  lay  un- 
conscious, for  though  since  the  successful  raising 
of  the  depressed  portion  of  the  injured  skull  the 
worst  symptoms  had  disappeared,  Nathan  Mur- 
doch was  far  from  being  out  of  danger,  and  still 
remained  perfectly  unconscious  of  his  surround- 
ings, as  well  as  ignorant  of  the  new  dignities  of 
husband  and  father  which  the  fiscal  had  declared 
to  be  indubitably  his  by  the  law  of  the  land. 

But  on  this  fourth  day  I  was  officially  present 
at  Nether  Neuk  in  my  capacity  of  assistant  (and 
proximate  partner)  to  Dr.  Armstrong. 

Upon  my  departure,  Nance  accompanied  me 

to  the  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  loaning. 

300 


MISTRESS   BRIDGET    MACCORMICK.  301 

"  Alec,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  at  once 
coaxingly  and  commandingly  on  my  arm,  "  I 
want  you  to  meet  me  here,  and  to  bring  me  as 
many  certificates  of  good  conduct  and  character 
in  favour  of  one  Daniel  MacCormick,  an  Irish 
harvestman,  as  you  have  time  to  write — as  well 
as  his  discharge  from  any  hospital  you  please,  and 
for  any  disease  you  have  no  particular  ill-will 
against." 

"What  mad  prank  is  this,  Nance?"  cried- 1, 
aghast;  "ye  want  me  to  commit  forgery?" 

"  Any  way  of  it  you  please,"  cried  our  pretty 
Mistress  Whirlwind, "but  be  here  at  seven  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning  with  the  letters — or  never 
dare  speak  to  Nance  Chrystie  again!" 

And  with  that  she  disappeared  among  the 
beech  trees,  and  all  I  saw  of  her  was  no  more 
than  the  flash  of  her  light  gown  as  she  whisked 
over  the  stile  into  the  orchard,  standing  a  mo- 
ment a-tiptoe  on  the  topmost  stone  to  blow  me 
a  kiss  from  her  finger  tips. 

I  did  make  it  convenient  to  be  passing  the 
road-end  of  Nether  Neuk  about  the  appointed 
hour  in  the  morning,  as  much  to  the  indignation 
of  Mary  Grey  as  to  the  astonishment  of  Dr.  Arm- 
strong, who  asked  me  if  I  had  discovered  in- 
flammatory symptoms  of  the  cephalic  cavity, 
complicated  by  any  tendency  to  hemiplegic 


3O2  LADS'   LOVE. 

paralysis  on  the  suture  opposite  to  the  seat  of 
injury. 

I  said  "  No." 

It  was  another  patient  I  was  going  to  see, 
whose  name  I  could  not  for  the  moment  conde- 
scend upon. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  loaning  of 
Nether  Neuk,  I  stopped  Mary  Grey.  I  looked  all 
about  for  Nance,  but  the  fields  and  the  loaning 
were  vague  and  silent.  I  stopped,  and  presently 
through  the  clear,  diffused  air  of  morning  I  heard 
a  voice  call  my  name.  It  came  from  the  edge  of 
the  outlier  of  spruce,  which  the  Lang  Wood 
threw  across  the  road  at  the  edge  of  Drowned 
Duncan's  Pool. 

I  hitched  up  Mary  Grey's  reluctant  head  from 
the  esculent  grass  of  the  roadside,  and  urged  her 
on  till  the  gig  and  I  were  well  within  the  belt  of 
trees. 

Then  immediately  from  over  the  dyke  above 
me  appeared  two  heads,  neither  of  which  at  the 
first  glance  I  was  able  to  recognise.  The  next 
moment — "Nance!"  I  exclaimed  in  a  horrified 
tone. 

For  Nance  it  was,  her  abundant  hair  tucked 
up  in  a  loose  net  like  that  of  the  Irish  women 
who  accompany  their  husbands  and  fathers  over 
to  the  harvesting  in  the  autumn.  Her  usually  so 


Mistress  Bridget  MacCormick. 


MISTRESS   BRIDGET    MACCORMICK.  303 

fascinatingly  tangled  curls  were  combed  straight 
on  either  side  of  her  face,  hiding  her  ears.  She 
wore  no  bonnet,  but  a  red  handkerchief  was  tied 
coquettishly  about  her  head.  A  short  skirted 
gown  of  coarse  frieze  came  a  little  below  her  knee, 
beneath  which  a  shapely  pair  of  legs  in  rig-and- 
fur  stockings  of  quaint  pattern  were  thrust  into  a 
worn  pair  of  West  country  brogans.  On  a  dainty 
sprig  of  blackthorn  over  her  shoulder  she  carried 
a  bundle  done  up  in  a  blue-spotted  handker- 
chief. 

Her  companion,  whose  height  alone  allowed 
me  to  recognise  him  as  Rab  Anderson,  was  at- 
tired like  an  Irish  harvestman,  in  rough  mole- 
skins, cross-gartered  round  the  legs  with  straw 
ropes.  His  feet  were  thrust  into  a  pair  of  enor- 
mous clogs,  with  "  cakars  "  or  iron  shods  on  their 
wooden  soles. 

He  carried  the  blade  of  a  scythe  under  one 
arm,  done  up  carefully  in  brown  paper. 

"  The  top  o'  the  marnin'  to  ye,  dochtor! " 
cried  Nance  joyously,  curtseying  to  me  in  an  ex- 
aggerated Irish  manner. 

I  stared  aghast.  What  impudent  cantrip  had 
the  witch  in  her  mind  now? 

"  And  shure  thin,  is  it  that  ye  have  lost  your 
tongue  entirely?  Can't  ye  even  rowl  the  illegant 
speech  out  o'  your  mouth  like  syrup  from  a 


304 


LADS'   LOVE. 


copper  spigot,  and  pass  the  time  o'  day  wid  a 
purty  colleen?  " 

She  continued  to  speak  in  the  same  outrage- 
ously Hibernian  accent  so  that,  though  the  seri- 
ous aspect  of  the  business  appealed  strong  to  me, 
I  could  not  forbear  from  smiling  at  her  mad 
humour. 

"  Pass  over  thim  papers,  driver!  "  she  com- 
manded, holding  out  her  hand. 

I  passed  the  bundle  down,  for  by  this  time 
both  Rab  and  she  stood  on  the  road. 

"  Right  and  commodious  as  a  crack  on  the 
head  from  a  dandy  twig  av  shillaleh  on  the  road 
to  Donnybrook!"  the  daft  thing  cried,  as  she 
glanced  over  the  papers. 

Then  the  madcap  launched  into  gay  song, 
twirling  her  blackthorn  round  in  her  fingers,  and 
dancing  a  light-heeled  jig  to  her  own  singing: 

"  Dan  MacCormick  took  a  shtick. 
And  made  a  whack  at  Doogan  ! " 

"  What — little  Johnny  Doogan?" 
"  Yus — he  shwore  he'd  have  his  loife ! " 

"  And  what  did  Doogan  do  to  him  f  " 
"  He  said  he'd  been  unthrue  to  him  ! " 

"  Did  Doogan  owe  him  money?" 
"  Naw — he  shtole  MacCormick's  woife  ! "  * 

Nance  concluded  this  interesting  dramatic  re- 
cital with  an  outrageous  breakdown,  executed 

*  From  a  transatlantic  emigrant  ditty,  very  racy  in  the  original. 


MISTRESS   BRIDGET    MACCORMICK. 


305 


with  her  head  on  one  side,  her  sprig  of  shillaleh 
beneath  her  arm,  and  her  hands  on  her  waist  at 
either  side.  Then  she  stopped  all  suddenly,  curt- 
seying low,  and  blew  me  a  dainty  kiss. 

But  I  was  both  pained  and  horrified,  for  was 
not  I  a  doctor,  fully  qualified,  and  of  quite  intense 
respectability?  How  could  I  approve  of  such 
levity  in  the  girl  I  was  about  to  marry. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  farce?  "  I 
asked  sternly. 

"  Och,  farce  is  it?  "  she  said,  never  dropping 
for  a  moment  her  outrageous  Irishry  (where  she 
learned  such  things  I  know  not).  "  Dear  Doc- 
thor  McQuhirr,  railly  in  your  heart,  ye  know,  ye 
think  it  mighty  purty.  You  wad  think  it  swater 
than  honey  in  the  comb  to  climb  down  here  and 
give  me  a  kiss!  " 

I  disdained  an  answer. 

Even  the  disguised  Rab  Anderson  smiled. 

"  And  look  ye,  this  is  me  brother  Dan,  that 
I've  been  tellin'  ye  av,"  she  said,  dropping  a  curt- 
sey, "  and  I  am  me  own  brother  Dan's  wan  sister 
Bridget,  at  your  honour's  sarvice,  and  a  good- 
lookin'  single  woman  Bridget  is.  If  ye  plaise,  we 
are  on  our  road  from  hospital — mat  hospital  is 
it,  at  all  at  all?  "  she  affected  to  consult  my  forged 
papers  (to  furnish  which,  it  goes  without  saying, 
I  had  risked  my  position  in  the  profession).  "  O, 


3C>6  LADS'   LOVE. 

in  the  Southern  Counties  Hospital  it  was!  I  mis- 
remember  them  Saxon  names — they're  the  devil 
an'  all — and  Dan  an'  me  are  on  our  way  to  Stran- 
raer  where  there  is  an  immigrathing  ship  for 
America  to  put  in  the  day  afther  to-morow." 

"For  I'm  bound  for  O-hi-O 
Where  the  happy  Mickies  go, 
And  the  swate  potatoes  grow  ! — 
There  I  'II  aise  the  blissed  Red-skins, 
Of  their  scalps  and  ugly  head-skins, 
On  the  banks  of  Mississippi  and  the  river  O-hi-O." 

"  Nance,"  I  protested,  "  be  sensible — this  is  a 
serious  matter " 

"  Sairious,  is  it?  "  she  cried,  stopping  her  shil- 
lelah  in  mid-twirl,  "be  the  powers, Docthor  Sandy 
McQuhirr,  you  sittin'  there  like  me  lord  Tim 
Flannigan  in  a  mud-kyart,  can't  tell  half  how 
sairious  it  is!  But  good-day  to  ye,  Docthor 
dear,"  she  cried,  waving  her  hand  and  turning 
back  again  towards  the  wood. 

Rab  stepped  down  and  wrung  my  hand  with- 
out words,  but  with  an  eye  that  looked  straight 
up  at  me.  Then  he  also  turned  and  vanished 
among  the  birch  copses.  I  have  never  seen  him 
since. 

But  up  from  the  depths  of  the  wood,  as  I  sat 
in  the  gig  and  listened,  came  the  strains  of  a 
gay  voice. 


MISTRESS   BRIDGET   MACCORMICK. 


307 


"  Don' t  forget  poor  Biddy  Cormick  in  the  lands  beyont  the  say, 
Don' t  forget  your  Bridget,  darlint',  when  you  dhrink  your 

cup  av  tay — 
Pray  remember  colleen  Bridget  in  the  mornin'  !  " 

I  did  not  laugh,  as  the  last  line  came  through 
the  birches  merry  as  a  quickstep.  The  water 
stood  in  my  eyes  instead.  I  could  not  help  it  as 
I  thought  of  the  gallant  girlish  heart  that  carried 
all  other  people's  troubles  as  her  natural  right, 
and  met  the  brunt  of  the  darkest  day  with  a  gay 
flout  and  a  merry  stave.  Sweet,  brave,  humble, 
reckless,  unassuming,  gracious,  madcap  Nance, 
was  there  ever  a  maid  like  you  since  the  world 
began? 

"  God  forgive  me,  darling,"  I  said  to  Mary 
Gray  as  I  lifted  the  reins  with  a  heavy  heart, 
"  I'm  not  worthy  of  such  a  lass.  You  are  ten 
times  the  man  I  am  or  ever  will  be,  Nance  Chrys- 
tie!" 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE    HEMPIE    ARRANGES    NANCE'S    DOWRY. 

When  next  I  saw  Nance  it  was  some  ten 
days  later.  She  was  coming  as  demurely  as  usual 
out  of  the  Kirk  of  Whinnyliggate,  and  she  said 
she  had  enjoyed  the  sermon.  I  tried  her  with 
a  bit  of  choice  Hibernian,  as  soon  as  we  were 
clear  of  the  black-coated  throng  and  the  ears  of 
the  gossips. 

Nance  looked  blank. 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  high  London 
English !  "  she  said,  calmly  raising  a  pair  of  beau- 
tifully clear  and  candid  eyes  to  mine.  "  It  will 
be  associating  with  these  fine  folk  about  Cairn 
Edward  that  learns  ye  to  clip  your  words  that 
gait!  Think  shame,  man,  Alec!  " 

But  after  all,  the  main  thing  was  that  Rab 
Anderson  was  safe  at  sea  on  his  way  to  a  new 
world. 

Nathan  Murdoch  slowly  recovered  his  health 

of  body  under  my  mother's  care.    But  in  spite  of 

308 


THE    HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S   DOWRY. 


309 


the  operation  which  Dr.  Armstrong  had  per- 
formed with  so  great  skill,  he  continued  to  suffer 
from  complete  loss  of  memory  and  general  weak- 
ness. 

So  soon  as  the  Hoolet  was  well  enough  she 
insisted  on  going  to  take  care  of  him.  To  me  the 
task  was  allotted  of  informing  her  that  she  was 
a  legally  married  woman,  and  that  by  the  law 
of  the  land,  Nathan  Murdoch  was  her  wedded 
husband.  I  expected  either  a  burst  of  gratitude, 
or  a  storm  of  indignant  unbelief.  I  thought  the 
chances  were  about  equal.  I  was  prepared  for 
either,  but  I  was  not  prepared  for  what  the  Hoo- 
let did  say.  It  was  no  more  than  this — 

"  And  do  you  think,  Alec,  that  I  ever  doubted 
it,  or  him?  " 

The  fiscal  interested  himself  in  the  case,  and 
in  time  obtained  powers  to  settle  the  estate  of 
Nathan  Murdoch,  lately  outfitter  and  general 
draper,  of  Bolton-le-Moors,  Preston,  and  Chorley. 
He  gave  the  job  to  Peter  Chrystie  as  his  "  doer," 
for  Peter's  prejudices  had  all  been  overcome  so 
soon  as  he  found  that  the  Hoolet  was  a  well-to- 
do,  decent,  respectable  woman,  whose  husband 
had  siller  in  the  bank.  He  "  aye  thoct,"  so  he 
said,  "  that  'Lizbeth  was  the  best  of  the  bunch. 
As  for  Rab  Anderson,  Lazy  Taed !  " 

When  Peter  returned  from  England  with  his 


3io 


LADS'   LOVE. 


very  satisfactory  financial  results,  and  a  new  store 
of  personal  experiences,  the  Hoolet  settled  with 
her  "  man,"  in  a  small  cottage  above  the  village 
of  Whinnyliggate.  Nathan  Murdoch  was  "  a 
heavy  handling  "  as  the  people  said.  But  'Liz- 
beth  Murdoch  asked  help  from  none,  but  dwelt 
alone  up  there  with  her  husband  and  her  child. 

Nance  and  I  were  married  in  the  spring,  and 
I  succeeded  to  Dr.  Armstrong's  practice.  Peter 
did  well  by  us,  much  against  his  will.  But  the 
Hempie  was  more  practical  than  either  of  us. 
I  may  tell  in  a  word  how  the  matter  of  Nance's 
dowry  came  about — by  the  Hempie's  means,  as 
usual,  all  the  more  that  I  have  told  so  much  of 
that  lively  lady's  recklessness. 

It  was  a  gloomy  day  in  the  wet,  bleak  winter 
before  our  wedding,  and  the  Hempie  and  her 
father  were  walking  homeward  over  the  moor 
from  Cairn  Edward.  Little  planks  had  been 
placed  here  and  there  across  the  worst  and  deep- 
est of  the  moss-hags. 

Upon  the  way  the  Hempie  had  broached  the 
subject  dearest  to  Nance's  heart  and  mine,  and 
now,  like  the  best  of  sisters,  she  was  enlarging 
upon  our  prospects  and  my  success.  The  prac- 
tice was  completely  paid  for.  My  father  was 
going  to  furnish  the  house  for  the  "  young  folk," 
and  it  surely  behoved  the  eldest  daughter  of 


THE    HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S    DOWRY.  311 

Peter  Chrystie  of  Nether  Neuk  to  go  from  her 
father's  house,  at  least  well  provided  for,  if  not 
handsomely  tochered  as  well. 

The  farmer  was  just  on  the  point  of  setting  a 
careful  foot  upon  the  rough  plank  which  afforded 
a  perilous  passage  over  the  depths  of  the  Muckle 
Flowe,  the  widest  quagmire  on  the  moor.  But 
as  his  youngest  daughter's  arguments  and  ap- 
peals financial  reached  his  ear,  he  turned  about 
and  shook  a  threatening  finger  at  the  daring 
minx. 

"  Noo,  Hempie,"  he  said,  knitting  his  brow, 
"  listen  to  me.  Ye  may  juist  as  weel  mak'  up 
your  mind  sune  as  syne.  You  and  Nance  hae 
played  it  gye  an'  croose  lately.  Ye  hae  held  your 
heids  most  michty  pridefu'  this  last  half  year. 
And  Peter  Chrystie's  no  the  man  to  forget  it, 
though  I  ken  weel  I  hae  mysel'  to  thank  for  no 
haudin'  ye  baith  in  check  better  when  ye  were 
younger." 

"  I  wad  hae  admired  to  hae  seen  ye  try  it 
on  our  Nance,  faither!  "  cried  the  irrepressible 
Hempie,  patting  her  father  indulgently  on  the 
shoulder.  "  It  wad  tak'  an  abler-bodied  man 
than  you,  my  lad!  " 

"  That  wonderfu'  Alec  o'  hers,  I'se  warrant!  " 
muttered  her  father  grimly. 

"  Him!  "  cried  the  valiant  sister,  with  an  ac- 


312  LADS'   LOVE. 

cent  of  inimitable  scorn  (I  can  well  believe  it), 
"him! — Alec  M'Quhirr — maister  oor  Nance! 
Certes,  he  kens  better  than  to  make  the  first 
offer.  But  what  are  ye  gaun  to  gie  them  for  a 
tocher,  faither?  A  thoosand  pounds?  " 

"  A  thoosand  deevils — the  lassie's  fair  gane 
gyte!  *  Where  hae  I  a  thoosand  pounds?  I  tell 
ye  no  ae  penny  will  I  gie  them.  No,  nor  the 
quarter  o't — nayther  plack  nor  bodle  will  ony 
M'Quhirr  o'  Drumquhat  ever  touch  of  my  siller. 
Do  ye  no  mind  that  I  made  a  vow,  and  that 
vow  I  shall  keep! " 

"  Deed,  faither,"  said  the  Hempie  gravely, 
"  gin  that's  a'  the  difficulty  it's  easy  settled.  Ye 
can  gie  Nance  the  thoosand  pounds,  and  keep 
your  oath  too.  I'll  warrant  ye  o'  this,  an'  sure  as 
she  is  her  faither's  dochter,  Nance'll  keep  the 
purse  for  the  hoose.  And  Alec  shall  never  finger 
a  penny  o'  your  thoosand  pounds — no,  nor  muckle 
o'  his  ain,  either!  " 

Her  father  obviously  melted,  for  his  daughters 
were  certainly  proving  themselves  capable  of  the 
qualities  he  had  openly  admired  all  his  life — busi- 
ness capacity,  arrogance,  keenness  in  bargaining, 
quickness  of  plain,  everyday,  cut-and-thrust  wit. 
But  the  thought  of  parting  with  so  great  a  sum 
as  a  thousand  pounds  was  gall  and  wormwood 

*  Mad — not  to  be  trusted  alone. 


THE   HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S   DOWRY.  3x3 

to  him.  He  turned  about,  crying  as  before,  "  Ye 
may  beg  till  ye  are  hoarse.  No  a  penny  will  ye 
get  for  Alec  or  her  either — no  a  single  copper 
penny.  Lay  ye  to  that,  my  lass,  unless  Nance 
will  be  biddable  and  marry  the  laird  of  Butterhole 
after  a'!" 

As  Peter  was  turning  him  slowly  about  in  the 
sticky  moss  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  Hempie 
stooped  and  deftly  pulled  the  plank  which  crossed 
the  Muckle  Flowe  an  inch  or  two  nearer  to  her, 
so  that  its  farther  end  was  resting  precariously  on 
the  extreme  brink  of  the  bank  opposite,  and  was 
held  in  place  entirely  by  the  foot  of  Peter's  duti- 
ful youngest  daughter,  Elizabeth  Jane  Chrystie. 
There  is  no  evidence  for  this,  however,  and  it  is 
indeed  persistently  denied  by  the  person  most 
concerned. 

Peter  stepped  boldly  on  growling,  "  No  a 
brass  fardin',  I  tell  ye " 

It  could  not  be  called  a  splash.  Liquid  peat 
does  not  splash  any  more  than  treacle.  But  at 
all  events  the  plank  had  given  way,  the  Hempie 
was  standing  demurely  aside,  and  there  was  Peter 
wallowing  mid-thigh  in  the  lairy  depths  of  the 
Muckle  Flowe. 

"  O  faither!  "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  could  ye  no  hae  ta'en  mair  care,  workin'  your- 
sel'  into  vour  tantrums  like  that !  " 


314 


LADS'   LOVE. 


"  Help  me  oot,  Elizabeth  Jane,  this  instant, 
ye  misleared  monkey,  standing'  there.  Your  sis- 
ter was  clever  eneuch  at  savin'  daft  limmers,  now 
do  you  save  your  ain  flesh  and  blood!  " 

"  I  think  ye  said  a  thoosand  pounds,  faither!  " 

"  I  said  nocht  o'  the  kind — help  me  oot,  un- 
gratefu'  besom!  No  a  penny  will  Nance  get  frae 
me!" 

"  I'm  sair  doubtfu'  that  I  canna  get  near  ye, 
faither!  I  feared  o'  lairin'  in  the  moss  mysel' — 
and  me  to  be  a  bridesmaid  sune.  That  wad  be  a 
terrible  loss  to  Nance  and  Alec " 

"  Will  ye  murder  your  ain  faither,  ye  un- 
natural lassie?  Saw  I  ever  sic  a  randy!  Help 
me  oot  this  minute — do  ye  hear — this  very 
minute!  " 

"  I'll  rin  doon  to  the  farm  and  send  the  men 
up  wi'  pleuch-chains  and  cairt  rapes.  I  think  they 
could  be  here  before  ye  gaed  oot  o'  sicht  a'the- 
gither.  An'  even  if  no,  ye  could  keep  haudin'  up 
your  hand  abune  your  heid,  and  they  could  aye 
see  where  ye  were.  It  wad  be  a  grand  guide  in 
howkin'  ye  oot!  " 

"  Lassie,  there's  my  stave!"  cried  Peter,  be- 
ginning to  get  really  anxious,  "  tak'  haud  o'  the 
end  and  lean  far  back  on  the  plank.  See  if  ye 
canna  reach  it  ower  to  me." 

"  Ye'll  gie  Nance  the  thoosand  pound,  then!  " 


'J'm  sair  doubtfu'  that  1  canna  get  near  ye,  faither" 


THE    HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S   DOWRY. 


315 


cried  the  Hempie,  "  so  that  she  can  be  decently 
marriet  as  your  ain  auldest  dochter  ocht  to  be! " 

"  Ow  aye,  Hempie!  we'll  see  aboot  that " 

"  Weel,  faither,  then  I'll  see  aboot  the  clickie 
stick!" 

"  De'il's  in  the  lassie.  I'll  gie  Nance  her 
thoosand  pounds,  and  be  hanged  to  her;  but  for 
a'  that  ye  are  an  ill-set  Jezebel,  traffickin'  and  bar- 
gamin'  wi'  your  ain  faither  before  ye  wad  help 
him  oot  o'  a  moss-hole!  " 

"  Weel,  faither,"  persisted  the  practical  Hem- 
pie,  "  here's  a  wee  sheet  o'  white  paper  wi'  a  bit 
stamp  in  the  corner.  I  see  the  end  o'  a  callivine 
pen  stickin'  oot  o'  your  waistcoat-pooch.  Juist 
gie  me  a  bit  screeve  o'  a  note  to  that  effect.  It's 
as  weel  to  hae  thae  things  marked  doon  in  case 
o'  accidents,  for  I  hae  kenned  folk's  memories 
bein'  terrible  short  whiles." 

Still  grumbling,  but  ever  sinking  steadily 
deeper  in  the  Muckle  Flowe,  Peter  Chrystie  at 
last  indited  the  required  promissory  note  to  the 
dictation  of  his  affectionate  and  practical  daugh- 
ter, and  our  especial  benefactress. 

Thereafter,  the  Hempie  became  suddenly  able 
to  reach  her  father  the  crooked  shepherd's  stick 
which  had  fallen  from  his  hand,  and  to  drag  him 
out  upon  the  comparatively  dry  land  on  the  level 
of  the  moss. 


316  LADS'   LOVE. 

Peter  never  stopped  a  moment  to  rage,  but 
made  directly  for  home,  shaking  his  head  and 
muttering,  "  Glaur  to  the  oxters,  half-drooned, 
half-starved — Oh  the  besom!  My  certes,  Hem- 
pie,  but  you  are  no  slow!  Ye  did  you  faither  to 
richts  that  time!  Faith,  there's  no  yin  i'  the  pair- 
ish  wad  hae  thocht  on  sic  a  thing  but  yoursel'! 
But  God  peety  the  man  that  gets  ye,  that's  a'!  " 

And,  strange  to  tell,  from  that  day  Peter  took 
greatly  both  to  Nance  and  myself;  and  when,  as 
he  is  wont  to  say,  "  the  auld  man  slips  away," 
there  will  be  Nether  Neuk  for  us,  the  prodigal 
laird  having  at  last  betaken  himself  to  his  ap- 
pointed place. 

Grace  married  the  laird  o'  Butterhole  and 
lived  comfortably  ever  after.  The  Hempie  is  still 
single,  and  maintains  her  paradox  that  she  has 
never  yet  seen  the  man  whom  she  would  not  ex- 
change for  a  double  handful  of  hazel-nuts. 

Mary  Grey  is  dead  in  a  ripe  old  age,  and  I 
have  a  swifter  pony  now,  even  a  coachman  with 
silver  buttons — at  which  last  Nance  jeers,  but 
sees  that  Jenkins  keeps  them  duly  brilliant  all  the 
same. 

On  my  daily  journeyings  I  often  come  across 
the  old  man  of  Nether  Neuk,  his  peculiarities 
touched  a  little  now  with  the  pathos  of  age  and 
a  daily  growing  childishness,  into  something  more 


THE    HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S   DOWRY. 


317 


likeable  than  of  old.  I  see  him  still  ambulating 
querulously  about  the  backs  of  bieldy  dykes  and 
hirpling  over  the  road-side  fields.  I  hear  out  of 
the  summer  woods  and  spring  copses  the  weary 
pipe  of  his  ancient  refrain.  For  he  remembers 
nothing  whatever  now  of  all  the  tragedy  of  that 
March  night,  and  still  holds  to  it  that  his  shep- 
herd Rab  is  shirking  his  trysted  labour  as  of  old 
behind  some  heathery  knoll.  He  keeps  his  stick 
short  in  the  grip  to  be  ready  when  he  catches  the 
Taed  malingering,  and  cautiously  circumnavi- 
gates every  bush  with  eternal  hope  in  his  eye. 
There  is  silence  for  a  moment  as  he  finds  nothing, 
and  then  I  hear  the  old  refrain  begin  again: 
"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Anerson,  Lazy  Taed?  " 
But  since  I  bade  him  adieu  at  the  corner  of 
the  wood,  and  Nance  delivered  Rab  and  his  De'il 
as  her  father  and  brother  on  board  the  emigrant 
ship  in  Loch  Ryan  (to  which  dazed  and  stupid 
Rab  could  never  have  been  able  to  engineer  his 
way,  nor  yet  to  arrange  his  passage  when  there), 
no  one  in  Scotland  has  seen  aught  of  Rab  An'er- 


But  up  in  the  White  North,  where  the  straight 
roofs  of  Chipewyan  break  the  boundless  expanse 
of  snow  and  the  spiky  irregularity  of  the  scanty 
woods,  the  chief  factor  of  the  great  post  knows 
one  Robert  Anderson,  who,  however,  cannot  ap- 


318  LADS'   LOVE. 

propriately  be  called  "  Lazy  Taed,"  since  by  gen- 
eral consent  he  and  his  son  are  the  best  hunters 
and  traders  to  be  found  in  the  territory.  For  one 
thing  it  is  too  cold  up  there  to  lie  long  about 
dyke-backs,  even  if  such  encouragers  of  sloth 
were  to  be  found  in  the  Northland,  anywhere  be- 
tween the  barrens  and  the  wide  St.  Lawrence. 

Letters  come  from  Whinnyliggate  to  the  Fort 
— one  at  least  by  every  mail.  And  others,  fewer 
but  sufficient,  ill-spelt  and  much  travelled,  arrive 
in  due  course  at  the  silent  little  house  set  above 
the  clustered  chimneys  of  the  village — the  house 
where  the  faithful  Hoolet  tends  her  "  man," 
misty-eyed,  helpless  as  a  babe,  and  cherishes  him 
at  once  with  the  love  of  a  mother  and  with  the 
devotion  of  a  great-hearted,  much-forgiving 
woman,  rich  in  silence  and  mighty  in  sacrifice  of 
self. 

Her  boy  Nat  is  at  school,  and  throws  stones 
over  the  dyke  at  the  master's  chickens  in  the  in- 
tervals of  his  education.  The  master,  Dominie 
Walker,  retorts  at  shorter  range  and  with  better 
effect.  \ 

There  is  generally  a  letter  from  far  away  lying 
on  the  table  before  the  Hoolet,  and  as  she  spells 
it  out  she  keeps  the  senseless  invalid's  hand  in 
hers.  She  sits  by  him  well-content  all  through 
the  day,  after  her  work  is  done — through  the 


THE    HEMPIE   ARRANGES   NANCE'S   DOWRY. 

weeks  also,  and  the  years.  The  minister  tries 
sometimes  to  get  her  to  go  to  church,  offering 
to  send  a  substitute  to  tend  her  silent  patient 
while  she  is  gone. 

"My  kirk  is  here!"  the  Hoolet  says,  laying 
a  hand  on  her  "  man's  "  shoulder.  "  See!  " 

She  loosens  her  fingers  from  his  grasp,  moves 
away,  and  motions  the  minister  to  take  her  place. 
He  sits  down  and  takes  Nathan  Murdoch's  slack, 
soft  hand  kindly. 

The  man  bereft  of  understanding  turns  his 
head  slowly  to  and  fro.  He  draws  his  fingers 
away  and  moves  them  vaguely  this  way  and  that, 
as  if  he  groped  for  something  he  could  not  find. 
Tears  gather  in  the  gentle,  over-clouded,  witless 
eyes.  A  sob  like  a  child's  breaks  from  the  rough, 
manly  throat. 

:<  Yes,  then — I  am  here!  I  am  here!"  mur- 
murs, with  infinite  gentleness,  the  woman,  croon- 
ing over  the  man  who  would  have  wronged  her, 
but  who  had  been  taken  in  his  own  device. 

The  minister  put  his  hand  on  the  man's  head. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  to  comfort  her,  "  he  is 
being  tried  in  the  furnace  here  below,  and  will 
come  out,  hereafter,  as  gold  that  is  seven  times 
refined.  Though  here  he  be  dead  while  he  lives, 
yet  may  his  true  life  be  hid  with  Christ  in  God!  " 

For  which  doctrine,  though  doubtless  it  com- 


320 


LADS'   LOVE. 


forted  the  woman,  his  Presbytery,  had  they 
known  it,  would  have  entered  into  judgment  with 
him. 

But  when  the  minister  had  gone  out,  the 
Hoolet  laid  the  letter  from  -Chipewyan  again 
on  the  table,  only  to  snatch  it  up  quickly  as 
Peter  Chrystie  came  hirpling  and  coughing  up 
the  lane.  Then  with  a  swift  pat  to  the  flaccid 
hand,  the  girl  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  She 
locked  it  and  returned.  Peter's  yammering  chor- 
us came  faintly  through  the  open  window  as,  baf- 
fled of  entrance,  he  proceeded  hillwards  again, 
going  forth  undiscouraged  and  undismayed  upon 
the  eternal  quest  for  his  lost  shepherd. 

And  still  the  light  wandering  winds  carry  over 
the  moors  the  plaintive  refrain: — 

"  Saw  ye  ocht  o  Rab  Arierson — Rab  Anerson, 
Lazy  Taed?" 


THE   END. 


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true  artist.  .  .  .  His  warm,  glowing,  Provencal  imagination  sees  that  tremendous 
battalion  of  death  even  as  the  no  less  waim  and  glowing  imagination  of  Carlyle  saw  it." 
—  London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Of  '  The  Reds  of  theMidi'  itself  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  the  story  will  become  one 
of  the  most  widely  popular  stories  of  the  next  few  months.  It  certainly  deserves  such 
appreciative  recognition,  for  it  throbs  with  vital  interest  in  every  line.  .  .  .  The  charac- 
ters are  living,  stirring,  palpitating  human  beings,  who  will  glow  in  the  reader's  memory 
long  after  he  has  turned  over  the  last  pages  of  this  remarkably  fascinating  book."  — 
London  Daily  Mail. 

"A  delightful  romance.  .  .  .  The  story  is  not  only  historically  accurate;  it  is  one 
of  continuous  and  vivid  interest"  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Simply  enthralling.  .  .  .  The  narrative  abounds  in  vivid  descriptions  of  stirring 
incidents  and  wonderfully  attractive  depictions  of  character.  Indeed,  one  might  almost 
say  of  'The  Reds  of  the  Midi'  that  it  has  all  the  fire  and  forcefulness  of  the  elder 
Dumas,  with  something  more  than  Dumas's  faculty  for  dramatic  compression."  — 
Boston  Beacon. 

"A  charmingly  told  story,  and  all  the  more  delightful  because  of  the  unstudied 
simplicity  of  the  spokesman,  Pascalet.  Felix  Gras  is  a  true  artist,  anH  he  has  pleaded 
the  cause  of  a  hated  people  with  the  tact  and  skill  that  only  an  artist  could  employ."  — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Much  excellent  revolutionary  fiction  in  many  languages  has  been  written  since 
the  announcement  of  the  expiration  of  1889,  or  rather  since  the  contemporary  publica- 
tion of  old  war  records  newly  discovered,  but  there  is  none  more  vivid  than  this  story 
of  men  of  the  south,  written  by  one  of  their  own  blood."  —  Boston  Herald. 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 

22 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

GILBERT    PARKER'S   BEST   BOOKS. 

SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY.  Being  the 
Memoirs  of  Captain  ROBERT  MORAY,  sometime  an  Officer  in 
the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  aftenvards  of  Amherst's  Regiment. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

"  Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of  '  The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty'  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.  Mr.  Parker's  latest  work  may, 
without  hesitation,  be  set  down  as  the  best  he  has  done.  From  the  first  chapter  to  the 
last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes ;  one  finds  it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narra- 
tive with  breathing  space.  It  whirls  with  excitement  and  strange  adventure.  .  .  .  All 
of  the  scenes  do  homage  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  make  'The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty'  one  of  the  books  of  the  year." — Chicago  Record. 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  excellence  of  his  latest  story. 
'The  Seats  of  the  Mighty,'  and  his  readers  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  direction 
which  his  talents  have  taken  therein.  ...  It  is  so  good  that  we  do  not  stop  to  think  of 
its  literature,  ami  the  personality  of  Doltaire  is  a  masterpiece  of  creative  art." — New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

*HE    TRAIL    OF    THE    SWORD.       A   Novel. 
I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a  reputation  already  wide,  and  anew  demonstrates  his 
power  of  pictorial  portrayal  and  of  strong  dramatic  situation  and  climax." — Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 

"The  tale  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  first  to  last,  for  it  is  full  of  fire  and  spirit, 
abounding  in  incident,  and  marked  by  good  character  drawing."— Pittsburg  Times. 


T 


HE    TRESPASSER.       i2mo.      Paper,  50   cents; 
cloth,  $1.00. 

".  Interest>  P'th*  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker's  new  story  possesses  all  these 
qualities.  .  .  .  Almost  bare  of  synthetical  decoration,  his  paragraphs  are  stirring  be- 
cause they  are  real.  We  read  at  times — as  we  have  read  the  great  masters  of  romance 
—breathlessly."—  The  Critic. 

"Gilbert  Parker  writes  a  strong  novel,  but  thus  far  this  is  his  masterpiece.  .  .  . 
It  is  one  of  the  great  novels  of  the  year." — Boston  Advertiser. 


T 


HE  TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE.     i6mo. 

Flexible  cloth,  75  cents. 

"A  book  which  no  one  will  be  satisfied  to  put  down  until  the  end  has  been  matter 
of  certainty  and  assurance." — The  Nation. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest,  originality,  and  ingenuity  of  construction."— 
Boston  Home  yournal. 

"  The  perusal  of  this  romance  will  repay  those  who  care  for  new  and  original  types 
of  character,  and  who  are  susceptible  to  the  fascination  of  a  fresh  and  vigorous  style." 
— London  Daily  News. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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STEPHEN   CRANE'S   BOOKS. 
THIRD  VIOLET,     izmo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Crane's  new  novel  is  a  fresh  and  delightful  study  of  artist  life 
in  the  city  and  the  country.  The  theme  is  worked  out  with  the  author's 
characteristic  originality  and  force,  and  with  much  natural  humor.  In  sub- 
ject the  book  is  altogether  different  from  any  of  its  predecessors,  and  the 
author's  marked  success  proves  his  breadth  and  the  versatility  of  his  great 
talent. 


T 


HE  LITTLE  REGIMENT,   and  Other  Episodes 
of  the  American  Civil  War.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $r.oo. 

"  In  '  The  Little  Regiment  '  we  have  again  studies  of  the  volunteers  waiting  impa- 
tiently to  fight  and  fighting,  and  the  impression  of  the  contest  as  a  private  soldier  hears, 
sees,  and  feels  it,  is  really  wonderful.  The  reader  has  no  privileges.  He  must,  it  seems, 
take  his  place  in  the  ranks,  and  stand  in  the  mud,  wade  in  the  river,  fight,  yell,  swear, 
and  sweat  with  the  men.  He  has  some  sort  of  feeling,  when  it  is  all  over,  that  he  has 
been  doing  just  these  things.  This  sort  of  writing  needs  no  praise.  It  will  make  its 
way  to  the  hearts  of  men  without  praise."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  Told  with  a  verve  that  brings  a  whiff  of  burning  powder  to  one's  nostrils.  .  .  . 
In  some  way  he  blazons  the  scene  before  our  eyes,  and  makes  us  feel  the  very  impetus 
of  bloody  war."—  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

MAGGIE:    A     GIRL     OF     THE     STREETS. 

•*  *•*-    I2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"  By  writing  '  Maggie  '  Mr.  Crane  has  made  for  himself  a  permanent  place  in  lit- 
erature. .  .  .  Zola  himself  scarcely  has  surpassed  its  tremendous  portrayal  of  throb- 
bing, breathing,  moving  life."—  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"Mr.  Crane's  story  should  be  read  for  the  fidelity  with  which  it  portrays  a  life 
that  is  potent  on  this  island,  along  with  the  best  of  us.  It  is  a  powerful  portrayal,  and, 
if  somber  and  repellent,  none  the  less  true,  none  the  less  freighted  with  appeal  to  those 
who  are  able  to  assist  in  righting  wrongs."  —  New  York  Times. 


RED  BADGE  OF  COURAGE.     An  Episode 
of  the  American  Civil  War.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Never  before  have  we  had  the  seamy  side  of  glorious  war  so  well  depicted.  .  .  . 
The  action  of  the  story  throughout  is  splendid,  and  all  aglow  with  color,  movement, 
and  vim.  The  style  is  as  keen  and  bright  as  a  sword-blade,  and  a  Kipling  has  done 
nothing  better  in  this  line."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"There  is  nothing  in  American  fiction  to  compare  with  it.  ...  Mr.  Crane  has 
added  to  American  literature  something  that  has  never  beeu  done  before,  and  that  is, 
in  its  own  peculiar  way,  inimitable."  —  Boston  Beacon. 

"A  truer  and  completer  picture  of  war  than  either  Tolstoy  or  Zola  "—London  New 
Review. 


NEW    YORK:  D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


F 


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Miss  F.  F.  MONTR^SOR'S   BOOKS. 

ALSE    COIN    OR     TRUE?       i2tno.       Cloth, 
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"One  of  the  few  true  novels  of  the  day.  ...  It  is  powerful,  and  touched  with  a 
delicate  insight  and  strong  impressions  of  life  and  chaiacter.  .  .  .  Ihe  author's  theme 
is  original,  her  treatment  artistic,  and  the  book  is  remarkable  for  its  unflagging 
interest" — Philadelphia  Record. 

"The  tale  never  flags  in  interest,  and  once  taken  up  will  not  be  laid  down  until  the 
last  page  is  finished." — Boston  Budget. 

"  A  well-written  novel,  with  well-depicted  characters  and  well-chosen  scenes." — 
Chicago  News. 

"  A  sweet,  tender,  pure,  and  lovely  story." — Buffalo  Commercial. 


T 


'HE  ONE  WHO  LOOKED   ON.     i2mo.     Cloth, 
$1.25. 

"  A  tale  quite  unusual,  entirely  unlike  any  other,  full  of  a  strange  power  and  real- 
ism, and  touched  with  a  fine  humor." — London  World. 

"One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  powerful  of  the  year's  contributions,  worthy  to 
stand  with  Ian  Maclaren's." — British  Weekly. 

"One  of  the  rare  books  which  can  be  read  with  great  pleasure  and  recommended 
without  reservation.  It  is  fresh,  pure,  sweet,  and  pathetic,  with  a  pathos  which  is  per- 
fectly wholesome." — St.  Paul  Globe. 

"  The  story  is  an  intensely  human  one,  and  it  is  delightfully  told.  .  .  .  The  author 
shows  a  marvelous  keenness  in  character  analysis,  and  a  marked  ingenuity  in  the  de- 
velopment of  her  story." — Boston  Advertiser. 


I 


'NTO     THE     HIGHWAYS     AND     HEDGES. 
I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  touch  of  idealism,  of  nobility  of  thought  and  purpose,  mingled  with  an  air  of 
reality  and  well-chosen  expression,  are  the  most  notable  features  of  a  book  that  has  not 
the  ordinary  defects  of  such  qualities.  With  all  its  elevation  of  utterance  and  spirit- 
uality of  outlook  and  insight  it  is  wonderfully  free  from  overstrained  or  exaggerated 
matter,  and  it  has  glimpses  of  humor.  Most  of  the  characters  are  vivid,  yet  there  are 
restraint  and  sobriety  in  their  treatment,  and  almost  all  are  carefully  and  consistently 
evolved."— London  Athenaum. 

'"Into  the  Highways  and  Hedses'  is  a  book  not  of  promise  only,  but  of  high 
achievement.  It  is  original,  powerful,  artistic,  humorous.  It  places  the  author  at  a 
bound  in  the  rank  of  those  artists  to  whom  we  look  for  the  skillful  presentation  of  strong 
personal  impressions  of  life  and  character." — London  Daily  News. 

"The  pure  idealism  of  'Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges'  does  much  to  redeem 
modern  fic'ion  from  the  reproach  it  has  brought  upon  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  original, 
and  told  with  great  refinement." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

A  better  book  than  'The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  "—London  Queen. 

E  CHRONICLES   OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 
By  ANTHONY  HOPE,  author  of  "  The  God  in  the  Car,"  "  The 
Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  etc.     With  photogravure  Frontispiece  by 
S.  W.  Van  Schaick.     Third  edition.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  all  those  whose  pulses  still  stir 
at  the  recital  of  deed  j  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written." — London 
Daily  News. 

"  It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  ...  In 
point  of  execution  '  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio '  is  the  best  work  that  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style  more 
colored.  .  .  .  The  incidents  are  most  ingenious,  they  are  told  quietly,  but  with  great 
cunning,  and  the  Quixotic  sentiment  which  pervades  it  all  is  exceedingly  pleasant"— 
Westminster  Gazette. 

"  A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  bv  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  healthy  exaltation  of  the 
spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up." — The  Scotsman. 

"A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  treshness  and  spirit." — London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  st  j  le  is  delightfal,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio '  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best." — New  York  World. 

"  Romance  of  the  real  flavor,  wholly  and  entirely  romance,  and  narrated  in  true  ro- 
mantic style.  The  characters,  drawn  with  such  masterly  handling,  are  not  merely  pic- 
tures and  portraits,  but  statues  that  are  alive  and  step  boldly  forward  from  the  canvas." 
— Boston  Courier. 

"  Told  in  a  wonderfully  simple  and  direct  style,  and  with  the  magic  touch  of  a  man 
who  has  the  genius  of  narrative,  making  the  varied  incidents  flow  naturally  and  rapidly 
in  a  stream  of  sparkling  discourse." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Easily  ranks  with,  if  not  above,  'A  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  .  Wonderfully  strong, 
graphic,  and  compels  the  interest  of  the  most  Hose" novel  reader." — Bcston  Advertiser. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio.  .  .  , 
The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

"  A  book  to  make  women  weep  proud  tears,  and  the  blood  of  men  to  tingle  with 
knightly  fervor.  ...  In  '  Count  Antonio '  we  think  Mr.  Hope  surpasses  himself,  as  he 
has  already  surpassed  all  the  other  story-tellers  of  the  period." — New  York  Spirit  oj 
the  Times. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue, 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  NEW  BOOK. 

*T^HE  SEVEN  SEAS.     A  new  volume  of  poems  by 
•*       RUDYARD  KIPLING,  author  of  "  Many  Inventions,"  "  Barrack- 

Room  Ballads,"  etc.      I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50;  half  calf,  $3.00; 

morocco,  $5.00. 

"  The  spirit  and  method  of  Kipling's  fresh  and  virile  song  have  taken  the  English 
reading  world.  .  .  .  When  we  turn  to  the  larger,  portion  of 'The  Seven  Seas,'  how 
imaginative  it  is,  how  impassioned,  how  superbly  rhythmic  and  sonorous !  .  .  .  The 
ring  and  diction  of  this  verse  add  new  elements  to  our  song.  .  .  .  The  true  laureate 
of  Greater  Britain."— E.  C.  Stedntan,  in  the  Book  Buyer. 

"  The  most  original  poet  who  has  appeared  in  his  generation.  .  .  .  His  is  the  lusti- 
est voice  now  lifted  in  the  world,  the  clearest,  the  bravest,  with  the  fewest  false  notes 
in  it.  ...  I  do  not  see  why,  in  reading  his  book,  we  should  not  put  ourselves  in  the 
presence  of  a  great  poet  again,  and  consent  to  put  off  our  mourning  for  the  high  ones 
lately  dead."—  W.  D.  Howells. 

"The  new  poems  of  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  have  all  the  spirit  and  swing  of  their 
predecessors.  Throughout  they  are  instinct  with  the  qualities  which  arc  essentially 
his,  and  which  have  made,  and  seem  likely  to  keep,  for  him  his  position  and  wide 
popularity." — London  Times. 

"  He  has  the  very  heart  of  movement,  for  the  lack  of  which  no  metrical  science 
cculd  atone.  He  goes  far  because  he  can." — London  Academy. 

"  '  The  Seven  Seas '  is  the  most  remarkable  book  of  verse  that  Mr.  Kipling  has 
given  us.  Here  the  human  sympathy  is  broader  and  deeper,  the  patriotism  heartier 
and  fuller,  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  insight  keener,  the  command  of  the  literary 
vehicle  more  complete  and  sure,  than  in  any  previous  verse  work  by  the  author.  The 
volume  pulses  with  power — power  often  rough  and  reckless  in  expression,  but  invariably 
conveying  the  effect  intended.  There  is  scarcely  a  line  which  does  not  testify  to  the 
strong  individuality  of  the  writer." — London  Globe. 

"  If  a  man  holding  this  volume  in  his  hands,  with  all  its  extravagance  and  its  savage 
realism,  is  not  aware  that  it  is  animated  through  and  through  with  indubitable  genius — 
then  he  must  be  too  much  the  slave  of  the  conventional  and  the  ordinary  to  understand 
that  Poetry  metamorphoses  herself  in  many  diverse  forms,  and  that  its  one  sovereign 
and  indefeasible  justification  is — truth." — London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"  '  The  Seven  Seas  '  is  packed  with  inspiration,  with  humor,  with  pathos,  and  with 
the  old  unequaled  insight  in  to  the  mind  of  the  rank  and  file." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  '  The  Seven  Seas '  is  a  distinct  advance  upon  his  characteristic 
lines.  The  surpassing  strength,  the  almost  violent  originality,  the  glorious  swish  and 
swing  of  his  lines — all  are  there  in  increased  measure.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  marvel  of 
originality  and  genius — a  brand-new  landmark  in  the  history  of  English  letters." — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  In  '  The  Seven  Seas '  are  displayed  all  of  Kipling's  prodigious  gifts.  .  .  .  Whorver 
reads  '  The  Seven  Seas '  will  be  vexed  by  the  desire  to  read  it  again.  The  average 
charm  of  the  gifts  alone  is  irresistible." — Boston  Journal. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


M 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
'ANY  INVENTIONS.      By  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

Containing   Fourteen   Stories   and   Two  Poems.      I2ino,   427 
pages.      Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  The  reader  turns  from  its  pages  with  the  conviction  that  the  author  has  no  supe 
rior  to-day  in  animated  narrative  and  virility  of  style.  He  remains  master  of  a  power 
in  which  none  of  his  contemporaries  approach  him — the  ability  to  select  out  of  count- 
less details  the  few  vital  ones  which  create  the  finished  picture.  He  knows  how,  with  a 
phrase  or  a  word,  to  make  you  see  his  characters  as  he  sees  them,  to  make  you  feel  the 
full  meaning  of  a  dramatic  situation." — New  York  Tribune. 

'"Many  Inventions'  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We  would  cite 
with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract,  incidents  from  almost 
every  story.  But  to  what  end  ?  Here  is  the  completes!  book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet 
given  us  in  workmanship,  the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view." — 
Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,'  and  to  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modern  fiction  has  to  offer." — New  York  Sun. 

" '  Many  Inventions '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
.  .  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force." — Boston  Globe. 

"  The  book  will  get  and  hold  the  closest  attention  of  the  reader." — A  merican 
Bookseller. 

"  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  place  in  the  world  of  letters  is  unique.  He  sits  quite  aloof 
and  alone,  the  incomparable  and  inimitable  master  of  the  exquisitely  fine  art  of  si  ort- 
story  writing.  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  has  perhaps  written  several  tales  which 
match  the  run  of  Mr.  Kipling's  work,  but  the  best  of  Mr.  Kipling's  Nles  are  match- 
less,  and  his  latest  collection,  'Many  Inventions,'  contains  several  such." — Phila- 
delphia Press. 

"Of  late  essays  in  fiction  the  work  of  Kipling  can  be  compared  to  only  three 
— Blackmore's  ' Lorna  Doone,'  Stevenson's  marvelous  sketch  of  Villon  in  the  'New 
Arabian  Nights,'  and  Thomas  Hardy's  '  Tess  of  the  Ll'Urbervilles  ' .  .  .  It  is  probably 
owing  to  this  extreme  care  that  '  Many  Inventions  '  is  undoubtedly  Mr.  Kipling's  best 
book." — Chicago  Post. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  require  introduction, 
but  it  can  scarcely  be  amiss  to  say  there  is  not  a  story  in  this  collection  that  does  not 
more  than  repay  a  perusal  of  them  all." — Baltimore  American. 

"  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had  imitators, 
but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his  achievements  by  con- 
trast. .  .  .  'Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they  are  inventions — entire'y  origi- 
nal in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  startling  by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"  How  clever  he  is !  This  must  always  be  the  first  thought  on  reading  such  ft 
collection  of  Kipling's  stories  Here  U  art — art  of  the  most  consummate  sort.  Com- 
pared with  this,  the  stories  of  our  brightest  young  writers  become  commonplace." — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

"  Taking  the  group  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  execution  is  up  to  his  best 
in  the  past,  while  two  or  three  sketches  surpass  in  rounded  strength  and  vividness  oi 
imagination  anything  else  he  has  done." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Fifteen  more  extraordinary  sketches,  without  a  tinge  of  sensationalism,  it  would 
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"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of  enduring  fame 
to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding." — Public  Opinion. 

"A  wonderfully  strong  study  of  character;  a  powerful  analysis  of  those  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  the  strength  and  weakness  of  a  man,  which  are  at  fierce  warfare 
within  the  same  breast ;  contending  against  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
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the  whole  range  of  literature  have  we  seen  the  struggle  between  these  forces  for 
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pictures  it." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

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"  Hall  Caine  has  already  given  us  some  very  strong  and  fine  work,  and  '  The 
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intensely  dramatic  grasp,  and  hold  the  fascinated  reader  with  a  force  rarely  excited 
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the  open-hearted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
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Always  that  an  author  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks 
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